


In Their Absence

by Phaenur



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: A Character Named "Reader", Absentee Dragonborn, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Giant Spiders, Hypothermia, Internalized Specisim, Internalized racism, Medical Nakedness, Nonhuman Main Character, Nudity, Teenage Main Character, graphic depictions of injury, original main character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-04-30 21:41:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 60,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14506026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phaenur/pseuds/Phaenur
Summary: Until about two week ago, Reads-With-Tail was one of Windhelm's few dozen Argonian dockworkers.  It wasn't a luxurious life, but there was comfort in knowing he'd have a home and a job that let him swim.  If his pay was low, or got delayed or repurposed, that was only fair - the True Sons and Daughters of Skyrim clearly had more urgent things to spend their coin on than a barnacle-scraper with an elf for a friend.  But then one of those True Sons took him aside and asked him to run a message somewhere far southwest, to an aide of the heroic Jarl whose laws and speeches kept people like him fed, and there was no chance at all he was going to say no to an honor like that.No matter how fast he ran, though, he always seemed to be a little behind, and everywhere swirled rumors of monster attacks and worse.  Even if none of them were totally true, there was clearly something wrong in the land.  But he was just one young lizard in a land of heroes and giants.  What could he possibly do?





	1. Chapter 1

Reads-With-Tail was _not_ having a good day.

It wasn't as bad as most lately, he supposed. The skies were clear for the second time in two weeks, the sun was high and close and warmly yellow instead of wan and distant, the breeze was slow and cool without the knife edge he'd grown up with. Low golden steppe scrub dotted with colorful flowers and the occasional stand of trees spread out far to the west and out of sight behind him, bordered by great mountain range swooping up to the south and a lower and more distant one rolling away to the north. The aura of fragrances and warm light swirled around the lanky boy, glittering off the damp grey rocks and bright thatched roofs above him. Yes, judging only by the weather, this was one of the nicest days he'd ever lived through, though it didn't have much competition.

But he wasn't judging by the weather. It was a constant and losing battle for him to keep his eyes open after the misadventures of the last two weeks, and the deep pains that permeated his body had ensured he missed most of his sleep each night on the trail. Everything from hurdles on the mountain trails to the simple and ubiquitous pine needles had worn at him, leaving every joint from tail to tip sore and tender. His deep burgundy scales, which he glossed so diligently whenever he had the opportunity, had been dulled by the rough travel to something more like the scabs his friend Kennet brought home every couple of weeks. At least the senses had come back to his feet; they'd been cold and heavy as lead half the morning after crossing one last brook of snowmelt that had carved its way across the cliffside path, and his last bundle of footwraps not to shrink beyond use hadn't yet dried.

And after all of that, this dratted guardsman wasn't helping him in the slightest.

“The city. Is. Closed,” the solidly built man repeated from behind his masked helm. He waved his shield arm to punctuate each word, setting his maille hauberk jangling beneath his faded yellow linen tabard. “No one in, no one out but by leave of the Jarl.”

“But I'm here as a courier,” Reads-With-Tail repeated in turn, trying to sound as forceful as possible this time since the plaintive approach hadn't worked so far. From what little he could see through the guard's spectacle helm and facemask – a raised eyebrow – it wasn't making much of an impact. Of course, with his cord belt puddled around his feet and his far too wide quilted shirt drifting in the tundra breeze, he doubted he looked very impressive in the first place. As proud of that shirt as he was, and as useful as its thick layers of linen padding were in all manner of situations, he frequently found himself thinking back over creative curses from Miss Berit's books whenever it fluttered up over his head and bared his scrawny abdomen this way.

And he couldn't imagine that tripping over the haft of his carpenter's hammer and nearly impaling his bony chest on his own mining pick had made much of a first impression. Still, the young Argonian tugged his shirt more snugly around his sharp shoulders and kept trying. “I've already shown you my message. I'm only asking to visit the inn and maybe the provisioner, ask around after the person I'm bringing this to, and then I'll be out tomorrow morning.”

The eyebrow dropped. Both eyes narrowed. “What you've showed me is a piece of sheepskin with a rebel seal on it. Jarl's got enough trouble in the hold since Helgen vanished without me letting Stormcloak spies inside the walls.” For the first time since their conversation had started, probably a quarter-hour ago, the guard let his gloved hand rest on the neck of his handaxe. “If you're telling the truth, lizard, you'd have better luck asking in the villages anyway. And if you're not,” he raised the axe fractionally out of its loop on his belt, “I've nothing more to say.”

Tail drooping, Reads-With-Tail accepted defeat. “All right, I understand –”

“– Good.”

“Can I ask one thing, at least? Do you have a map, or at least directions to one of the villages you mentioned? I lost mine crossing a flooded path a week or so back.” And because of it he hadn't been able to make his way through the wilderness like a proper Nord would – like a proper Nord had told him to, in fact – and had probably missed Master Ralof's party while he floundered about looking for the border with Cyrodiil. “I'd like to make myself helpful if I can, too – perhaps I can bring back news about Helgen if you point me in that direction.”

“Rumor's spread that fast, eh?” Reads-With-Tail nodded. Rumors of elvish armies and living dead and even the Dragons of the End-Times, each of which had left the youth with some vivid dreams and restless nights in their turn.

The guard's hand was back on top of the axe now, fingers drumming on the haft, and the Argonian relaxed a little, twisting his back a bit to loosen his nervous muscles. “Well, if it gets you out of here. Head back south the way you came, cross the bridge, and work your way west along the river and the foothills. Should be, oh, a day's walk to the next village for a grown man.”

It seemed that even now, with his recent growth spurt catching him up to the average Nord workman in height and most of that in his legs, the guards and soldiers of the world couldn't resist reminding him that he couldn't measure up to them in any appreciable way. But that didn't excuse him from trying, of course. Skyrim was Nord land, nobody in Windhelm was allowed to forget it, but Jarl Ulfric had made it clear time and again that anyone who was willing to help the Nords was welcome in the kingdom he was building. So, since so many of the other Argonian dockworkers were servicing neutral and even Imperial trade shipping as much as they did Windhelm's own merchant and fishing fleets, that made it Reads-With-Tail's responsibility to do everything he could on their behalf.

Which brought the boy back to the present. “Right, then it's time I get moving. Sorry for the trouble,” he added a little ruefully as he turned. The guard clucked behind him – not the sympathetic chuckle he normally got from the Stormcloak warriors and Windhelm city guard out on the docks, but still not a club over the skull. All six of his horns swept down from the top of his neck, and they were tiny smooth stubs rather than the polished spears some of the other dockworkers boasted – certainly not anything that could turn or catch a real blow.

Reads-With-Tail shook his head at his morbid musings. Yanking down his shirt as it tried to float off his chest again – not a chance while it was lashed to his wrists and elbows, but it was still annoying – he turned to look down his path. The south “road” barely lived up to its name anymore – clearly the Jarl of Whiterun Hold had better things to spend his money on than keeping the cobblestones weeded. The young Argonian liked to think that Jarl Ulfric would do better, but he'd seen enough of the Eastmarch outside Windhelm proper to know better. And Miss Berit had let him read enough books to understand why not.

And besides, he'd take this loose stony dirt and golden-brown lichen over the ice and snow that had swallowed Windhelm's brickwork! After all, he could still see where he was supposed to go along this path, and there were still plenty of well-kept buildings stretching south to the river. And the creek that burbled along next to it was shallow and almost warm compared to that river, as he'd found out earlier that morning.

The red-scaled Argonian stooped for his belt, taking a moment to thank the Nine that Shahvee had insisted he lash his baggy pants and over-long sleeves at the joints. It didn't make the thick billowing shirt any less awkward, but it at least helped him move freely in burlap leggings meant for a grown warrior. And it let him get away with pretending he wasn't wearing the only outfit he owned, one meant to last him all the way until he stopped growing. Neetrenaza said the tighter, cleaner look made the Nords less likely to do anything worse than just arrest him on sight. Reads-With-Tail thought the veteran dockworker was much too uncharitable towards their hosts, but he wasn't quite brave enough to ignore his advice.

His rambling thoughts kept him occupied while he cinched the cord back around his waist properly, settling the hammer and pick against his thighs again. It was a purely instinctive motion at this point anyway, one he'd repeated so often with some tool or other that he didn't need to actually pay attention to the process. He pushed his right palm down against the head of the pick, stretching out his arms and kicking the tension out of his legs. Then he turned back to the path, crossing his arms between his horns, and set off south as the mountain shadow started to grow.

 

The shadows had lengthened enough to simply melt together into dusk long before before Reads-With-Tail finally halted. His tail had been dragging in the moss for easily two hours, his energy thoroughly spent from racing the shadows of some windmill along the road. Then he'd had to plow his way up a deceptively steep and slick hillside under a soothingly warm and humid canopy of trees. And then, of course, a pack of five Imperial Legion footmen had gone clattering past back towards Whiterun, ignoring the little Argonian who was trying to melt into a rock face.

All he'd gotten from that rock was a smear of green slime along his spine and shoulders and a trickle of chilly water down his neck, but at least the legionnaires hadn't challenged him. Still, with no idea what had them in such a hurry or if more were coming, he'd clambered up the boulder behind him and rolled, panting, up over the top. He'd used his pick to help with the quick climb, anchoring himself to the top of the ledge with a wild swing that left his shoulder joint burning, but all the hammer had accomplished was bruising his hip and nearly getting him caught as he tried to roll over the lip.

Still, he was safe from the soldiers, and with the moons on the rise and the river cheerfully lapping at its banks somewhere below him he was ready to curl up inside his nice warm shirt and let the day be over. He'd driven himself hard the last two weeks, especially after reaching Darkwater Crossing at last and finding no sign of Master Ralof or his mysteriously nondescript war party, but for some reason his encounter with the Whiterun guard had leeched away his enthusiasm.

He hadn't really thought about it until now, but Skyrim was a massive place and he had to find one specific person in it, and one of his three clues had faded away days ago. The other two were little better – he knew Ralof vaguely, but veteran Stormcloak armor was nowhere near as distinctive as perhaps it should have been, and looking for “the straw-haired Nord” only narrowed his search down to about nine-tenths of the realm. Maybe talking to the guard, trying not to mention the Stormcloak warriors by name, trying to keep his own origins in secessionist Windhelm a secret, and getting a “lead” that had nothing to do with his task had made him realize that.

Or maybe he was just tired, the young Argonian admitted as his jaw popped in a yawn. He'd only had one real rough encounter, though, and that had been right after Darkwater Crossing – sure, he'd sprinted until he'd thought his heart had burst after clubbing a single Frostbite Spider aside, but that had just been once! Certainly not an excuse for being so weary now.

And he was no stranger to hunger, either, he reminded himself as he tucked his scaly hands into the pockets he'd ripped into his shirt. The open quilt pouches hung heavy across his chest, but the right-hand pocket was hanging considerably lower than the other. Aside from the copper cylinder that held Ralof's message there were nothing but loose crumbs and flakes of salt to his left, but at least he'd kept the waterskin in his right pocket topped off. He drew out the floppy leather sack, popping the pewter cap out almost before it had cleared his shirt.. He knew he ought to at least boil the water first, since he couldn't switch it out for properly sanitary alcohol, but his throat was finally telling him he was too thirsty to wait.

 _Besides_ , he thought as he gulped down the chilly, bitter water he'd skimmed from the snowmelt, _if Ralof had been tracking_ me _down_ – _and Jarl Ulfric cares enough about his city that he might just order it, if the war permitted_ – _he'd probably have been here a week ago with ale and meat to spare, no fatigue at all._ _Of course, a real warrior, a real Stormcloak, wouldn't have missed the meeting site in the first place, now would they_?

Reads-With-Tail writhed on his bed of moss, now completely unable to get to sleep despite the lethargy of moments before. _You see, this is why Berit pins you down and shoves a book in your muzzle whenever you get a spare moment,_ he told himself. _If I ever save up enough for a proper backpack, I'm definitely starting a travel library of my own!_ Of course, he'd have to save up for that too, now that Berit and her companion Selma were up north visiting Winterhold. Not that she'd want him dragging her precious books all across Skyrim in search of a missing warband, however helpful he might find having proper reading material to distract himself with.

 _I suppose I've distracted myself without a book anyway._ He sighed and rocked to his feet, stooping to refasten the his wrist and ankle laces and tug on the ankle wrappings that passed for shoes. At least this last set hadn't collapsed as it dried; there was no practical footwear in existence that could cover the wide webbed paw of an Argonian, but here in Skyrim the less of the body that saw the night air the better. Warmth aside, he had always thought the tension and pressure the wraps gave when snugged up was far more comfortable than it had any right to be, something none of his bunkmates on the docks had ever understood.

Well, if sleep wasn't going to come, there was no sense in waiting here in the woods, even if it probably was the most comfortably warm night of his young life. Reads-With-Tail stretched mightily, twisting his back and hips in as many different directions as they would go and luxuriating in the popping of liberated muscles and joints. Then he paused with his body arched nearly to the ground over his left side. Paused and listened. Something was scraping the moss and crunching the carpet of leaves and ferns...somewhere uphill from him, or at least he thought so. It was so hard to tell with all of the nature surrounding him.

Frustration surged up and blinded him, mercifully choking off his panic before it could take hold instead. His muscles stiffened and tensed madly, turning what should have been the gentle hefting of his hammer into an ungainly thrash that nearly tossed the heavy tool into the brush. As it was, his left shoulder jerked forward and immediately started to ache keenly, mirroring the pain in his _right_ shoulder from his earlier climb. Of course, that just made his general frustration even worse, and he slapped the haft of the hammer into his less sore right palm with stinging force.

For a three-minute eternity Reads-With-Tail stood there wringing his hands and spinning the hammer in his tingling palm, but nothing came out of the woods towards him. Of course, hemmed in by trees the way he was he supposed that whatever it was might simply have overlooked him in favor of something more obvious. Aside from the ledge behind him and the switchback in the road just below it, he couldn't really claim to be in a clearing. Through the trees he could see lichen-encrusted rocks and loose trees building Giant-sized stairs into the side of the mountain. Nothing as regular as real stairs, obviously, though that sort of thing turned up in his books far more often than he thought it should. Just enough of a climb to separate him from whatever was making so much noise.

Tentatively the Argonian moved forward into the woods, wringing his hammer's neck with his left hand, clenching his right around the haft so tightly he wasn't sure he'd be able to uncramp it later. His shoulders were high and tight and strangely itchy, and not the familiar itch of dry and frozen scales either. He still couldn't tell exactly where the sounds were coming from, but he knew he was getting closer, or maybe they were, because he could make out voices now.

Human voices, he realized, his whole body shivering with relief. Not spiders, not trolls, and definitely not Draugr. Being torn apart by mummified Nords from centuries ago and reassembled on some marble barrow shelf so he could attack his friends when they came looking...that held a special place in his nightmares. Even if the thought of a well-brined body completely tangled up in linen did actually sound fairly ridiculous when he thought about it.

Reads-With-Tail started to giggle uncontrollably at the mental image he'd just conjured up, a regular nightmare turned to hilarity completely by accident. And as he doubled over, chest heaving with thin, rapid laughter, the voices rose into a shout and then vanished into an immense thud somewhere very close in front of him. The young Argonian looked up as best he could with his arms twisted tightly around his stomach and the side of the hammer digging into his ribs. The panicky laughter caught in his throat, sending him to his knees in a coughing fit and bringing his face far, far too close to a freshly made corpse.

It was a massive body, Reads-With-Tail noticed as he scrambled away on all fours, chest to the sky but eyes fixed on the dead man. He was easily as tall as a Nord, and probably even broader despite being scrawny enough for his ribs to show prominently. But he was no Nord; the snapped tusks that jutted from his lower gum made that obvious. As would his grey-green skin, Reads-With-Tail supposed, though in actuality he couldn't make out the exact color in the fading light. But the young Argonian had little attention to spare for anything but the slow trickle of blood that oozed from the Orc's broken tusk-teeth.

With great effort, Reads-With-Tail dragged his gaze away from the lifeless face. His stomach seemed to flip over and crawl up into his chest as he took in the bend in the Orc's neck, the long nub that threatened to push out of his throat. The boy swallowed again and again, as hard as he could, trying to hold down a much different lump in his own throat, and quickly looked past the twisted neck to the rest of the body.

A surprisingly elaborate design on the Orc's upturned roundshield caught the faint starlight through the trees, as did the iron rim that held the shield together and the even duller studs that dotted his shaggy overcoat. Reads-With-Tail blinked, the itch at the back of his eyes finally filtering through to make him realize he'd been staring at the corpse the entire time. A second blink, a moment to refocus, and he also realized that the Orc's arm had to be twisted even more impossibly than his throat in order to tilt the shield upwards even though his body was lying draped across a bush.

 _All right, all right, I need to stop looking. Just...look away. Think of something different._ It might not help him fight down the surging bile, but maybe there wouldn't be any more. Visions of the salt fish and horker loaf he'd packed for the trip danced in front of him, setting his stomach churning in yet another direction as he realized just how hungry he'd let himself get. _Argh!_ Reads-With-Tail balled up both fists even tighter, swinging his arms jerkily. _Now I need to stop thinking of_ food _, too!_ He dropped to his knees and clutched his stomach, letting the hammer fall at last.

The young Argonian kneeled there in the loam and retched. His chest turned hollow, his already sore muscles conspired to yank his insides into perfect upright order, and yet nothing actually came out. Finally, dizzy for air, he looked up and took a deep, greedy breath. After briefly feeling around for his hammer, he straightened up at last.

Directly into a stiff, heavy glove.

 

The Argonian started squirming, and whoever was behind him tightened their grip on his left shoulder in response. It wasn't a harsh grip, not even particularly strict, but it served to keep his hammer in place. In fact, at this point it was enough to keep the frightened youth completely in check. “Easy, boy,” a deep voice said in his ear. “You look so out-of-place that there's no chance you're a bandit.” The heavy Nordic accent was no obstacle to Reads-With-Tail after sixteen years in Windhelm, though his own thunderous heartbeat was. “More than that, even in this light there's something about you...look at me.”

Reads-With-Tail complied immediately, his lungs and heart finally slowing back to a more normal speed. He cocked his head back, baring his throat and looking up – _well_ up – at the Nord who'd caught him. _Just when I thought I'd started catching up to them, they get even taller._ In better light the man's hair would probably have been the color of straw or good wheat, but it was hard enough for Reads-With-Tail to focus on anything with his head tossed back this way, especially with the dense fur hood framing the man's face so closely.

The man frowned down at him, then blinked and let go of his shoulder with a sudden grin. “I _do_ know you, don't I, boy? From the docks! Ah...Reader, isn't it?”

The Argonian turned quickly, nodding as he went. “Reads-With-Tail, sir, yes.” Now it was his turn to frown and blink. “Wait. No, the Nine have a better sense of humor than that. You can't be Master Ralof! I've been looking all over for you, sir!”

“I don't see what's amusing about it.” Nevertheless, the towering man chuckled softly, if a little hoarsely. “It seems perfectly like Them to let us meet up so randomly out here.” He nodded at the youth. “So, you came out searching for me, and managed to end up all the way out near old Riverwood. I'm sure I'll hear the rest of the story eventually, but first, what do you have for me?”

Reads-With-Tail reached into his left flank pocket for the waterproof cylinder that held the message. “This, Master Ralof. I was told you'd be heading towards Darkwater Crossing with a war party of some – hey!” The Nord warrior yanked the canister away, tossing the long cap into the woods in his hurry to unseal the message. Popping the wax with a belt knife, he unraveled the short paper and scanned it hurriedly.

Then, to Reads-With-Tail's shock, Ralof closed his eyes slowly, rocked his head back, and began to laugh. It was nearly as soft as his chuckle from moments before, but with a far harsher edge to it, and his shoulders shook more as though he was crying. The young Argonian reached out to him tentatively but refrained from actually touching him – after all, this was a captain of the Stormcloaks here, hardly someone _he_ was fit to comfort!

Finally Ralof opened his eyes again and looked back down at Reads-With-Tail's outstretched hand. He gripped it in his own much larger hand, closing his bear-paw glove around it. “I take it back,” he said after a moment. “I may have overestimated the Divines' idea of a good joke.” Reads-With-Tail cocked his head. “The message was there to warn us that Tullius was moving troops towards where we were headed. But they told you to meet us at Darkwater Crossing? We ran headlong into the Governor's legionnaires there not four days ago. To come all this distance on foot, well, you must have run like a horse!” And with that the Stormcloak warrior tossed his head back and laughed again, a little of the pain gone.

For his part, Reads-With-Tail simply stood there, his hand shaking slightly as Ralof rocked back and forth on his heels, his half-mad laughter going silent at random. It was such an absurd situation, indeed, both the missive and the moment. He'd been so convinced he was running behind, yet something had delayed the Stormcloak band so much that he'd gotten over a week ahead of them? It made no sense to him, but then he still had no idea what the warband had actually been up to.

As for the strange and awkward position he found himself in now, his tail stiffened in protest but his mind ordered it to relax. If the warrior thought he needed to let this out, then no matter how undignified it might seem there was no way the boy was going to pull away from him now!

Not until another voice called down from the rocks above the fallen Orc. “Well, I'm glad your spirits are so high, Ralof.” Reads-With-Tail whipped around, his hand still caught firmly in Ralof's mitt. Above them stood a soft-faced man in the studded leather and maille mesh of an Imperial light footman, one arm weighed down by the Legion's signature steel-banded kite shield and the other holding aloft a torch that illuminated the stabbing spear slung over his back. “Oh? I see you've made a friend. This does seem to be the day for it.”

The man's expression was unreadable. Perhaps it was just distorted by the firelight, but it seemed far too stern for such a gentle face to bear. His voice, too, was strange – teasing enough to set the Argonian at ease, yet colored by all kinds of hostility. And through some trick of the gods he carried an even thicker accent than Ralof's, making it even harder to work out his meaning. Reads-With-Tail twisted around to look at Ralof, only to see the Stormcloak's face similarly muddied.

“Hadvar. Have you cleared out the rest of the tower yet?” he called back, clearly preferring not to spend any more time talking with the maybe-Legionnaire than he had to.

“Faster than you did, clearly,” the man on the cliff spat back. Reads-With-Tail cringed. He'd heard warriors and sailors of all stripes recounting their exploits before, but this had none of the playfulness it was supposed to. “That Orc sent you tumbling all the way back down the path. I had plenty of time to manage the archers and get back to you.”

“Well, I'll let you have this round,” Ralof answered, barely bothering to raise his voice so the other man could hear. “I'll take the watch, then.”

The maybe-legionnaire shook his shield in an unmistakable command to halt. “Who's the Argonian, though?”

“He's from Windhelm. Not a Stormcloak, if that's what you're thinking –”

“– Hardly. Even if Ulfric let him in the rest of you would tear him apart.”

“Or you would on the field. Does it matter now?” There was a surprising touch of venom in Ralof's voice. “Either way, he's coming with us. I don't know about you, Hadvar, but I don't want him getting us both into even more trouble with our commanders than we probably already are.”

Hadvar nodded crisply. “Of course we'd take him with us! That or pack him off to Riverwood.” He paused for a moment, considering something. “Sorry, I shouldn't talk to you like you're not here. You two get up here and we'll set up in the watchtower for the night. This can all wait for morning. One thing though,” he added as an afterthought. “Are you actually interested in following? If not, the village is just down the hill. Talk to the smith, mention my name, you'll do fine.”

Reads-With-Tail glanced up at Ralof again, but he didn't even need to see the warrior he'd run so far to find before he gave his answer. All he had to do was nod.

 


	2. Chapter 2

The watchtower was cold and drafty, with more loose masonry than actual windows and nothing but the second level's decrepit wood floor to keep the snow flurries at bay. Indeed, even after all of his experiences with Windhelm's ever-shifting weather, the sudden transition from warm humid woods to ice and heavy air had given Reads-With-Tail a nasty shock. At least the bedroll they'd claimed from some bandits was a pleasant change from rock and moss.

In fact, it was too pleasant. The dry fur lining went from perfect to scratchy and _much_ too hot in moments, and as sleepy as he was the Argonian youth wasn't quite able to keep himself bundled up any longer. So he shook himself awake once again, worming out of the bedroll and reaching for his belt as he stood. Hadvar caught his eye as he stooped to pull it on, though. The maybe-legionnaire was twisting and kicking in his bedroll – in fact, now that Reads-With-Tail's eyes were a little less blurry he almost looked like he was running. But he was silent and his face was still, and so Reads-With-Tail shrugged and finished dressing. There was nothing he could do against a nightmare.

Hammer and pick at his sides once more, he stepped out through the empty doorframe. Ralof was standing there, a Windhelm waraxe in his belt and a stout flanged mace the Argonian hadn't noticed at all before firmly in his hand. “Couldn't sleep, eh, Reader?” he said very quietly, eyes fixed to the eddying snow coming down off the switchbacks above.

“No, sir,” Reads-With-Tail replied in an even smaller voice. Then, “Thank you for letting me stay with you, sir.”

Ralof tossed his head, bearskin hood puffing in the slow wind. “Wasn't all my decision. Though of course Hadvar would find the nicest possible way to phrase it right after I finished making a hash of it. He always was good at that.” Reads-With-Tail had no intention of asking about that even if either man offered – it was uncomfortable enough now, with only one of them around! After an Age-long awkward silence the Stormcloak warrior spoke up again. “I'm glad you decided to come with us. Riverwood's a very nice village; I'm sure you'd have been comfortable there.” He sighed heavily, shoulders sagging for the first time that Reads-With-Tail had seen that night.

“I can take the watch for now, Master Ralof.” Of course, now that he'd said that, his eyes started fighting to close. “If you need to rest.”

Another sigh, very ragged this time. “It's tempting, Reader. But if Hadvar wakes up and I'm not out here...well, I'll never hear the end of it.” He squared his shoulders with a weary chuckle, but his back was still sagging. _He needs the sleep far more than you do,_ Reads-With-Tail told himself. _It's obvious._

“Well, in that case, may I at least stand guard with you? I've got the pick and hammer if we need to use them.”

Ralof turned quickly, head cocked. The Argonian couldn't make out that much of his face under the hood, and what he could see of it was unreadable. “I won't stop you,” he said after an even longer pause than before. “Actually...if you'll stand for me for just a few minutes after all, there's...eh, something I was meaning to investigate.”

Reads-With-Tail didn't much like the sound of _that_. He weighed his choices for weapons, finally settling on the hammer once again. It was shorter, far handier, and above all simpler to use. And besides, he'd hammered plenty of boards together and even turned the tool to metal and stone before, and he saw no reason why he couldn't copy the technique for battle. _If I'm ever going to find a use for all of Berit's books on smithing theory I might as well start practicing with this thing anyway._

Apparently hefting the hammer was all the answer Ralof needed. The Nord faded into the darkness and swirling snow like a wraith, leaving behind a young, gangly Argonian who was suddenly keenly aware of just how cold it was.

 

Ralof had probably been gone for all of five minutes before Reads-With-Tail heard a noise in the tower. He had squatted down, tucking as much of himself as he could fit into the thick linen of his shirt to keep away from the rising wind, but he still remembered his duty. Hammer in hand he turned to the door to investigate.

And, naturally, rammed his narrow muzzle squarely into Hadvar's armored chest. Clearly the noise had just been him waking up and pulling on his armor, though his shield and shortspear were conspicuously missing. The soldier jumped back instinctively, scrabbling for something in the darkness around the doorframe, then caught himself. “Sorry, young one,” he said after a few deep breaths. “I didn't expect you to be so close to the tower.”

The Argonian's tail quirked as his sleep-deprived mind tried to work out what was strange about the man's phrasing. “But you _did_ expect me out here to begin with, then?” he asked around furiously chattering teeth.

“Aye,” Hadvar said with a mild sort of pride. “I couldn't imagine a Stormcloak having the discipline to stand his post into the morning, so it's little surprise that you're out here in his stead.” Reads-With-Tail glared at the Legionnaire, his lips shrinking back into a bare-fanged snarl, but the man either couldn't see or didn't care. “But to be honest, with how you jumped at the chance to join us I'd have been disappointed if you weren't out here at all tonight. Shame you're not here of your own accord, though – just like Ralof to drag the strangest of people into trouble right next to him.”

“I am, Master Hadvar,” Reads-With-Tail replied sternly, though the effect was undermined by his frantic shivering. “I left the tower a little while ago, and Ralof took the opportunity to properly investigate something he'd spotted down the hill.”

Hadvar folded his arms. “Oh? Well, if he's going to go chasing phantoms at least he had the wit to wait for you. And if he's just sneaking away, so much the better. I'll feel much safer managing that den of thieves with you behind me than with him.”

“Den of thieves?” Reads-With-Tail parroted. “You haven't actually explained what you two are doing out here together, especially with what you've said about Master Ralof.”

Hadvar sighed. “Watch the road again, little friend.” _I'm not_ that _small, am I? You're just broad – not even a head taller than I am!_ “I'll fill you in over some of Aunt Sigrid's salmon steak.”

The Argonian had only just turned back to the trail when Hadvar mentioned fish, and he couldn't help but spin right back to face the soldier. “I, ah, well, thank you,” he stammered out, once again reminded of how hungry he'd let himself get. He didn't meet Hadvar's eyes before awkwardly turning back around, though – after all, he'd just disobeyed an order, and clearly let both Nords down as a sentry considering how long he'd just spent with his eyes off the path.

“Not a problem. Aunt and Uncle would have my hide if I didn't share my provisions with my comrades, though fortunately for both of us Ralof's set.” Hadvar's voice was surprisingly clear despite the tower and presumably his knapsack trying to swallow it up. “But this won't last me to Solitude or him to Windhelm, and we'll need traveling clothes that don't paint targets on us for half of Skyrim along the way.”

“So this band of thieves has a bounty on them, then?” It seemed like a straightforward enough matter, though the Orc from before had hardly seemed remarkable enough to push a Stormcloak and a Legionnaire into working together. Especially not with what Ralof had already said about being captured.

“On some of their plunder, at least. Some sort of golden dragon's claw sculpture they took from Riverwood's merchant, and old Lucan wants it back.”

“Well, I don't know how much use I'll be to you in dealing with them, but I'll try to do what I can.” _Maybe I can distract someone, at least?_

“Well, you'll be no use at all on a completely empty stomach.” Hadvar's voice hadn't been muffled by very much, but Reads-With-Tail could definitely tell the difference now that he was out of the tower again. And even with his wide nostrils nearly frozen shut he could make out the wonderful scent of baked fish from just behind him.

“Or without the right tools,” Ralof said from down the lower trailhead. The Argonian youth twisted on the spot faster than he'd thought possible, his hammer coming up into something approaching a battle stance, before his brain recognized the voice. “Here you go, lad. It's a little large for you, but I think you'll grow into it nicely enough.” He slung something out from under his left elbow, sending it spinning gently through the air at Reads-With-Tail.

It may have moved slowly and gently, but it still caught the boy by surprise, in the dark, well after the scales on his ungloved hands had iced over, and he fumbled it magnificently. It nearly clattered down the cliff behind him, but Hadvar managed to put his boot in front of it before it rolled too far. “Good thinking,” the Legionnaire muttered just loudly enough he could pretend Ralof hadn't heard.

Ralof, for his part, let Hadvar be. “Before you ask, Reader, yes, that is the Orc's shield. You looked ill enough as it was earlier, so if this is going to be a problem then you might as well get it out now.”

Reads-With-Tail frowned. Just thinking of the scene wasn't actually a problem, he realized. Not until he started to focus on specific parts of the memory, like the snapped bone that threatened to rip out of the neck entirely or the slow drip of blood leaking from the broken tusk – _all right, that's enough_.

And somehow, it _was_ enough. He'd never really found that the images in Miss Berit's books stayed with him, true, but that had been something entirely different. And yet there it went, sinking back out of mind as if it had been nothing more than ink on a page. “I'll be fine, Master Ralof. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Hadvar passed the shield over again, much more sedately, and Reads-With-Tail examined it fruitlessly for a moment before simply worming his right arm through the enarmes. The roundshield was heavy and bulky – really more the latter than the former, at least compared to the Argonian's scrawny arm – but it fit reasonably well and wouldn't be at all impossible to work with. He'd supposed he'd have to wait until sunrise to learn what design the Orc had borne. After all, the decorations were the most important part, weren't they? The easiest way for the bards and weavers to recognize a hero and his companions on the battlefield.

“I suppose we could stand to eat now, then, since I don't think any of us are getting to sleep properly anytime soon,” Hadvar said, holding out a loaf of salmon meat for the young Argonian. “When we're ready, we make our way higher up to,” he swallowed much more anxiously than Reads-With-Tail would have thought him capable of, “...Bleak Falls Barrow.”

“Oh, you're not still hung up on Alvor's talk of restless Draugr and all that, are you?” Ralof chuckled, but for Reads-With-Tail the damage was done. The walking dead were common foes in stories from every culture, and nearly all of those stories ended with half or more of their protagonists dead, cautioning against arrogance and bravado – and, more directly, against being foolish enough to explore a Nordic barrow. Not even the Dwemer ruins with their infamous automata had so many warnings so thoroughly etched into every race's traditions.

The young Argonian straightened his new shield as best he could and held his hammer a little tighter. Whether they moved out now or later, he knew that he wouldn't be sleeping well tonight.

 

Hadvar's Aunt Sigrid wasn't the greatest fish cook Reads-With-Tail had ever come across, but after so long on such thin rations he inhaled the crumbly slivers of meat anyway. _I'm probably being uncharitable to her, I suppose – after all, I ate so fast I didn't actually taste it!_ Still, the texture didn't compare all that well to what he and the others at Windhelm's Argonian Assemblage pulled together each night, or even the jerked salmon Kennet always shared before going on one of his caravan's many misadventures.

That didn't seem to be slowing the two warriors down, though. They'd finished their portions scant seconds behind Reads-With-Tail himself. Ralof dusted the salt off his hands with a sigh. “Not the same as a hot meal with Gerdur and Hod, but it's better than what you people fed us.” For the first time since Reads-With-Tail had run into the duo, there was no hostility in how Ralof spoke. Only weary humor. “If I didn't know better, I'd say you were actually trying to leave us as skin and bones so the dragon wouldn't be interested in us.”

The Argonian staggered backwards, tail and shield arm hurtling forward to balance himself as he scrabbled on an icy patch. “Dragon?” he echoed in a tiny voice.

The Stormcloak and the Legionnaire sighed in unison. “Aye,” Ralof said, beating Hadvar by perhaps a quarter-second. “Scales black as barrow-iron and even spikier. Longer and wider than an Imperial watchtower. It came down out of the morning mist and stopped the Legion from executing us, though since it burned two of us to ash and left two more to bleed out I guarantee you it wasn't on our side.”

“I believe you on that, Ralof. And much as I hate to say it, I don't blame your people for breaking out over the walls. Somehow I'm not surprised that you of all people stayed, though.” Hadvar watched the snow eddying around their feet for a moment. “I don't think we managed to rescue any of the townsfolk, though a man named Gunnar might have managed to follow you out with his boy.”

When he replied, Ralof''s tone was colder than the mountain night. “Weren't the first civilians you let die yesterday, were they, Hadvar?”

Faster than Reads-With-Tail would have believed possible, Hadvar caught Ralof in the gut with the tip of his kite shield, bashing his face with the steel Imperial Dragon boss as he bent over and then yanking him back upright by his hair. “I need no reminders from you! But answer me this, Stormcloak.” He opened his fist and let Ralof stagger back. “If Ulfric or one of your other heroes ordered you to put a prisoner to death, would you hesitate? I told her it was unfounded, she overruled me, and that's the end of it. _That's_ what being a soldier is, Stormcloak.”

The Argonian boy could only stand there, wringing his hands, as Ralof caught his breath and regained his footing. Even in the half-light of moonlight on gusting snow, the man's glare was savage and obvious.

“I know I'd obey Ulfric or Galmar, and a great many others,” he spat back, no pain at all in his level voice despite the glistening trail of blood that ran from his scalp and nose down to his chin. “I'd follow them to any end because I know them and I trust them. And if they're in the wrong, I know that either they'll admit it or at least listen to us when we tell them so. _That_ ,” he matched Hadvar's tone perfectly, “is why we're together, fighting your Empire. After the War, none of us can believe it actually knows best how to govern or how to lead. Hell, I trust your judgment more than any Imperial puppet on the Wolf Throne!”

Hadvar had met and matched his glare without flinching. “Do you hear yourself, Ralof? It's not just Cyrodiilic law Ulfric broke when he dueled that 'Imperial puppet!' Skyrim has her own laws, her own traditions, and your beloved Jarl invoked the one that gave him power and ignored the rest!” After a long, silent stare which Ralof matched relentlessly, he shook his head sharply. “Clearly we're not going to convince each other in a night. Let's get back to the story, shall we? Reads-With-Tail here might need to know what happened, and it'll make good practice for when we explain it to everyone else.” The Stormcloak nodded, blinking at last to seal the momentary truce.

“That dragon moved so fast we couldn't hit it, and the arrows and spells that finally did connect weren't doing a thing. The entire town was ablaze in seconds after it first arrived, what with that storm of fireballs it called out of the sky. Even if we'd known it was coming _and_ the Stormcloaks had stayed around to help, I don't think we'd have saved anyone who couldn't already save themselves. On that note, if it had gotten there an instant faster it would have stopped the second execution.” Hadvar looked sideways to glower at his companion. “The one Ralof was going on about.”

“A storm of fireballs?” Reads-With-Tail asked. His head was still spinning from the argument, but he was still paying attention to as much as he could follow. And that _didn't_ follow. “In all the stories dragons are magical creatures, sure, but not that kind of magical.”

“This isn't a dragon from your books, lad,” Ralof replied immediately. He swept his arm all around them. “It's one from out here. Maybe some of the details got muddied or lost over time, I don't know. But don't let yourself call anything impossible.”

The Argonian nodded dazedly. There were too many things going on in his head for him to focus properly right now, too many questions. About dragons and spells, about Stormcloaks and Imperials – the two warriors had said so much so quickly that he hadn't been able to give his own thoughts the merest of defenses. The only thing he still felt sure of now was that Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was a man worth following, and that because he'd called for a “Skyrim for the Nords” Reads-With-Tail still had to prove his worth to Windhelm and the rest of Skyrim on behalf of his people.

And just from what he'd seen tonight, Master Ralof and Master Hadvar were both worth all of the little help he could offer.

 

“So,” Hadvar said, his hands tucked under his elbows for warmth. “I get the feeling that none of us are getting any more sleep tonight, eh? I say we deal with these bandits, unless Ralof still hasn't gotten over his stomachache.”

Hadvar's brief grunt of laughter disappeared under Ralof's deafening snort. “I'm more concerned that you two will freeze to death on the slope before we even reach the barrow. Well, at least that you will, since Reader here's lived through Windhelm winters.”

Truth be told, Reads-With-Tail was shivering uncontrollably at this point, his body chilled from his face and limbs inward. “That's right, but it's still cold out. Can we get on with it, at least get inside?” he said around his chattering jaw.

“My thoughts exactly,” Hadvar replied. “No real plan here, I suppose, since we don't even know how many of them there are or if anyone's awake. Just one thing to decide, then.”

Reads-With-Tail was about to ask what he was, but then he noticed Ralof. The Stormcloak's face was as harsh and bitter as the mountain wind. “Not to me there isn't. They may have just robbed the general store last time, but if we do nothing but take the claw back what do you think they'll do next time? Riverwood's got nobody but an innkeeper, an elf woodsman, and my sister and your uncle who have any idea how to fight. I'm not leaving these bandits behind with them.”

Hadvar sighed. “You forget I'm a soldier, Ralof. I've seen what these people leave in their wake. Besides, it's not exactly like we've got the prison carts anymore either way even if we felt like bothering.”

The Argonian's mind was racing again. It was obvious what the two were talking about, and judging by all the songs and folklore it would be more of a novelty if the heroes on the start of their adventure let any of the bandits go in the first place. But all the same he couldn't stop thinking about the Orc down the hill. It had been so easy to let his discomfort go earlier, but now it had welled up and frozen within him, and that wasn't even someone he'd fought himself.

 _No. Enough of that. You promised you'd help them both, as much as you could._ “What do you need me to do? I'm not really trained for any of this, but I think I'm stronger than I look.”

“I'll say! Like I said, anyone who could keep up with horsecarts on foot while taking the long way around has to be something special.” Ralof's praise was still uncomfortable, but all the same it warmed Reads-With-Tail from within. “Well, I think you're small and fast enough to get ahead of us, see what they're up to. If they spot you, which I doubt, just keep running and we'll hit them from behind.”

“From behind? You've been up here before, Ralof?” For the first time, Hadvar sounded outright surprised.

Ralof only laughed. “Of course I have! Pretty sure it was Gerdur who dared me to open the gate and look inside. Nothing there but rats...well, not fifteen years ago, at least.” He gave a melodramatic chuckle that got Reads-With-Tail laughing and even won a small smile from Hadvar. “The last switchback channels all the wind that blows across Whiterun's steppes into an endless little blizzard, but that's really it. You make it through the cold and you'll see a pretty large structure at the entrance. Almost like a fortress or something – it's got overlooks with shields and arrow slits, everything but actual walls. Then the temple doors at the top, and you're in. Stairs on both sides, too, so you can run all the way across if you have to. And like I said, when we finally catch up with you we can clear out anyone crazy enough to chase you.”

“I hope your memory's as good as you give yourself credit for, then.” Hadvar was shaking his head with much more amusement than before. “In any case, I don't really think these thieves are going to be clever enough to post a proper watch, especially not with the tower guard here to do it for them, but always best to be safe. Reader,” he said a little more sharply, and the Argonian found himself straightening and coming much more alert, “keep that shield up at all times if you run into trouble. Don't worry about fighting back, just focus on turning their blows until we finish them for you.”

Reads-With-Tail nodded sharply. “I understand. If I'm really that far ahead of you two, which I don't think is going to happen, I'll do my best to get back to you and tell you what I see. And if I get caught then I think I can hold them off while you catch up with me.” _I hope so, at least. I mean, this is my first time using a shield, and I don't really know how beyond what I've read._ “See you soon?”

The two warriors looked at each other, then slowly turned back to him, and he felt his courage starting to falter. Then they nodded in unison, and before his nerves or the cold could get the better of him the young Argonian turned to the trail and took off at the fastest sprint his icy legs could manage.

 

The switchback came almost immediately, maybe thirty paces at most for the lanky Argonian. It was such a gentle turn that Reads-With-Tail started to feel concerned – even with thick blankets of snow heaped up along the far side of the path, it was a far broader trail than any of the little forest paths he'd dealt with at the base of the Throat of the World. He couldn't help but imagine that beneath the loose snow was a knife-edged drop back down to the plains and steppes of Whiterun Hold.

Still, that wasn't the side of the path he had to worry about. As Ralof had said, an immensely powerful wind poured into the pass, whipping the snow in front of him into a swirling frenzy and threatening to lift him off his feet and carry him back down the mountain. Left nearly blind by the hammering snow that threatened to glue his eyes shut, the beleaguered young Argonian lifted his shield up high, tucked his hammer away, and took off in a straight-line dash. His legs were stiff and sore just from all the travel he'd done, let alone the blizzard he was caught in now, and he started to flag almost immediately.

Worse still, although he was watching his footing in order to keep the path, he wasn't watching far enough ahead, and more than once he slipped on a puddle of ice and twisted his tail beneath him as he fell. But even with his footwraps soaked, his pants frosted, and snow up the back of his shirt, he hoisted himself up and started running again every time. After all, what happened to non-Nords caught out on a night like this was well documented, and even Skyrim's sons and daughters would struggle when the air was chilly enough. He had to find shelter, and hopefully a fire and a warm bedroll, as soon as possible, which now could only mean Bleak Falls Barrow.

He took a chance and peeked up over his shield, but saw only icy daggers flying straight at his eyes. He flinched aside, ducking his head again, and saw a large black mass just to his left. From the way the wind was swirling around him now it had to be the mountain face, the side of the crag that had stood above their watchtower. What that meant for how much farther he had to run, though, he had no idea.

Then his right foot plunged into a far deeper snowdrift than he'd run across before, twisting his entire leg up to the hip sharply as he plunged into it. The cold only dulled the pain slightly, and Reads-With-Tail was completely unashamed to wail at the sudden shock. _This isn't it. This can't be it! I've fallen into Windhelm's port water before and swam right back to the top. There's no way a little snowdrift is stopping me!_ Slowly he hauled himself back upright and onto the curving trail, hip throbbing and knee too numb to bend properly. He had to pull out his mining pick to steady himself, leaning heavily on the long shaft as he caught his breath and let the pain subside.

The wind redoubled in mockery of his efforts, cutting up under his lightened belt to gust across his back and chest. His bones were as chilled as they were going to get, though, making the breeze strangely revitalizing instead. The young Argonian hobbled awkwardly up along the trail at the fastest speed he could still manage, shield lowered to steady himself and eyes fixed firmly ahead despite the snowstorm.

And then it was there, the spiraling winds and dancing snow settling behind him as he limped his sorry way towards the glistening black edifice Ralof had described. Starlight and the drifting bands of aetheric light beyond it set the snow sparkling with white and purple, a soothing contrast to the blizzard of moments before. A blizzard Reads-With-Tail could still clearly see over his shoulder.

The stairs were slick with ice and snow, but still not that great of a challenge after what he had just struggled through. His pick was stout enough that he could lean on it safely and make his way up one step at a time. Sadly, he couldn't bound up as many stairs as his legs could cover like he normally did, and the densely frosted haft of his hammer ripped at his thigh with each step he took. In his frustration he simply couldn't deal with that sort of extra burden, and as his rage boiled over he hurled the hammer up over the stairs and out of sight.

At least the wind was completely dead here, the slot the stairway cut into the great stone and barrow-iron platform shielding him from whatever breeze was left. He felt absolutely warm by comparison! And after he'd taken out his frustration on the poor hammer, he was able to relax a tiny bit and enjoy the reprieve.

 _But I can't enjoy it too much._ With the wind quiet at last, Reads-With-Tail began to listen as hard as he could for any watch the bandits might have posted. To his amazement, there was nothing. Snow muffled sounds, true, and he could hardly blame any animals that might live up here for staying in shelter as long as they could, but he ought to at least hear the crunching of a sentry's boots or the jostling of their weapon. Absent both of those things, the young Argonian hoisted himself up the last few steps and ducked, hissing in pain as his injured leg complained.

He couldn't hear anything before and he couldn't see anything now, so the boy made his laborious way across the icy top of the entryway to another short set of stairs. The barrow-iron double door loomed ahead of him, propped ajar by a stout rock – luckily for him, since now that he saw it Reads-With-Tail strongly doubted he could actually get it open alone. The little boulder wasn't all that impressive, and indeed he had to set his pick aside and twist his shield arm nearly opposite his shoulder in order to fit through easily.

He took a wide step over the rock with his uninjured left leg, sidling in with his back to the barrow in order to land on his strongest foot. With effort and some pain he dragged the rest of himself inside, turning at last to face the chamber.

And the ten or so _very_ large ladies and gentlemen who were looking at him with varying degrees of sleepiness, an assortment of weapons scattered on the ground or propped on the walls. Slowly, self-consciously, Reads-With-Tail put his strong leg back outside over the doorstop. He watched over the rim of the dead orc's shield as the ring of half-awake bandits lurched toward him.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Reads-With-Tail's body was going numb from the left leg up. He'd settled into a broad stance across the doorstop, shield up and free hand stretched out into the night air for balance. And still the brigands he'd stumbled across hadn't come after him. In fact, three had just stared at him for a moment before diving back into their fur-lined bedrolls. The other five looked like they had the same idea; they simply hadn't gotten through with looking at him.

“Soling, shut the door,” a short – by Nord standards – man whined. “It's so cold in here I'm seeing things.”

“Could just be the ale,” a distractingly well-endowed Nord woman replied. She was the one who drew the Argonian's eye the most – _and not for that reason, honest!_ No, the real eye-catcher was the compound shortbow she was waving in his general direction – she hadn't bothered to grab her quiver yet, at least, but she was still the only one to have actually armed herself after the Argonian's intrusion.

A Khajiit, one of the lanky cat-men of the south – _my, didn't he take a wrong turn!_ – shrugged at his companions. “The door wouldn't make a bit of difference, would it, lads? Trust Arvel to lead us to the one tomb in Skyrim with the whole entryway caved in.” Reads-With-Tail snapped his gaze to the cat. He wasn't armed, but even with his buzzing drawl the Argonian could tell he was wide awake. And to hear the stories, a Khajiit wouldn't need a weapon to make a savage mess of anyone unlucky enough to cross him. _Neither do housecats, as Miss Berit's furry monster's proved plenty of times, so I suppose that makes sense._

“Oh, pipe down, furball. You've done nothing but complain since we arrived.”

Another shrug from the Khajiit. “I stood four watches without sleep because you said my fur would keep me warmer than your Nord blood. I'm not saying you're wrong about your Nord blood, Haarknir –” Reads-With-Tail didn't think he could move his arms enough to clap, but he was mentally applauding the Khajiit for that one. “– But I think I'm entitled to complain about the weather being just as charming inside as out. And that it seems to be giving all of us the same,” he bared his long fangs at the frightened young Argonian, “strange dream.”

“Dream...” the woman echoed, voice faint. Then her eyes shot open wide. “Wait, that shield. Are you lot seeing it too?”

The fourth man, a Nord of average stature, spoke up at last. “An upside-down lavender unicorn on white. Yes, I think it's safe to say we're all dreaming. Back to bed?”

_Please, please say yes._ Reads-With-Tail had a feeling of impending doom that flooded the fifth or so of his body that still had feeling at all. _No. I'm sure she recognized..._

“No.” The woman frowned until the young Argonian was certain her mouth would swallow her chin. “It's just crazy enough to be real.” _Oh, she's seen it. And she's definitely awake now._ “As real as Buryak, in fact! He was stupidly proud of painting the details on that unicorn. You, lizard!” Reads-With-Tail scrabbled backward, his right leg slipping off the ground and his left one folding nervelessly beneath him. His frozen right arm crumpled under his weight but stopped his head from hitting the barrow-stone. “Buryak would never have sold that, not for triple the gold he's ever had. So where is he?” She dropped to one knee almost as heavily as he'd just fallen, scrounging for her quiver. “What did you do with my Orc!”

That was the signal the rest of the room had been waiting for. The Khajiit hurtled forward almost on all fours, his claws sliding out. Frantic, Reads-With-Tail kicked off from the rock to buy himself a little more space to react. But to his amazement, his cold and scrawny legs managed to dislodge the small boulder, sending it clattering back into the chamber. The mighty black door shook the ice from its hinges instantly, screaming closed under its immense weight.

And he flinched away, pulling the shield firmly over his eyes as the doors caught the unlucky Khajiit in the stomach without even slowing down. A little trickle of melted water mixed with something thick and rapidly cooling ran up under the Argonian's flapping shirt and along his spine, a crescent axe of pain and fire through the numbness. His shield could do nothing for the sounds, though, the horrible spluttering from the Khajiit's broken lungs and the wails of fury and revulsion that filtered through the crack in the barrow door. _Believe me, I didn't want to do that either! Please!_

The doors shrieked as they slammed back open, letting the shattered Khajiit fall at last as the quiet man hurtled out. Reads-With-Tail let the shield fall, scuttling away from the charging man until he blindly reached the edge of the stairs. His stomach lurched up as the rest of him slid down the icy steps, twisting and bouncing from each stone on the way down. He came to a rest in the light snowdrift that covered the broad platform, his whole body bruised and his breath coming sharp and irregular. He looked up through blurry eyes as his pursuer swooped down from the stairs, kicking off the frosted surface in a tremendous lunge. The tall Nord arched his entire body in the air to hoist his longmace overhead in both hands, then snapped it forward in an overhead slam. Reads-With-Tail shut his eyes tightly, so overwhelmed by the moment that he couldn't even raise his shield.

One of his horns blazed with pain, sending brilliant white light shooting up behind his eyelids, and as he opened his eyes to clear it he took in the scratchy fur chafing his right cheek. The Nord had overshot him, just fractionally but still enough to spare his life for the moment. The young Argonian tensed his body, yanking himself along the ice and away from the man's boots. But his longest left horn stuck in the snow, glued against the barrow's foundation by the blood that leaked from its splintered tip. _He...he landed on it. He landed on my horn!_ His whole body felt oddly thin and stretched.

Reads-With-Tail climbed dizzily to his feet, staggering drunkenly as every joint in his body threatened to surrender. The effort of raising his shield arm pushed him back to his knees, but now that the Nord had recovered from his massive swing some sort of defense was essential. _How did the Stormcloaks always say to use this thing?_

Shrieking, the bandit lunged at his victim again, twisting his entire body through a horizontal swing. Reads-With-Tail ducked, falling over on his aching back yet again. “I'll kill you!” the man screamed – rather superfluously, a corner of the boy's mind remarked calmly. “He was – he was... And you hurt him!” He punctuated his tearful declaration with another vertical smash from across his left shoulder.

There was no dodging this time. Reads-With-Tail was too tired and sore to roll through the snow, and there was no other way to get out of its way anymore. He swung out with the shield blindly, his battered arm shaking itself to pieces as the metal rim caught an iron stud. But whatever he'd hit set the Nord howling in pain and rage, and an instant later the exhausted young Argonian heard something heavy split the ice well off to his left.

But even if it was the longmace he'd heard bouncing away, he had nothing left. He could barely even keep his eyes open any longer, let alone block another blow. A stout leather boot came crashing down on his twisted right knee and he felt the man stoop for his throat. No matter how the youth tried to raise his arms they would not move; all his efforts did was let even more of his sapped energy bleed out into the mountain air. _There's no point in even leaving my eyes open, is there? I'm...I failed. Myself, and everyone else on the docks._

The pressure on his body slackened and vanished, except for a little weight that still twisted his right knee over on its side. _He didn't seem ready to take pity on me._ Inch by inch Reads-With-Tail dragged his head off the stone, prizing his broken horn loose from where his blood had frozen. With great effort he looked out at the barrow porch one more time.

The Nord who'd just bested him lay curled on his side, foot still caught in the crook of the boy's knee. His chest heaved, frantically trying to pull in air. The Argonian's head dropped again, nearly landing on the broken horn, and as his vision swam he saw why the poor man couldn't breathe. An engraved steel axe had lodged itself two-thirds of the way through his neck. And another warm body draped itself over Reads-With-Tail, burning cold mail counterbalanced by the gentleness of his presence. Ralof yanked his axe free of its mark and kicked the man's body out of the pool of blood that had spread under Reads-With-Tail's shoulder, then grabbed the young Argonian by his shield arm and hoisted him to his feet.

“Sorry I'm late, lad. Can you stand?”

The Argonian jerked in his rescuer's grip as sharp coughs wracked his chest. His mind and body were in full agreement, ordering him to say no and just lie down out of the way, but out of some impossible pride he nodded. Ralof let go of him and the boy instantly started wobbling, but to his amazement he truly _was_ able to stay on his bruised and frozen feet.

“That was one hell of a throw, Ralof,” Hadvar remarked from just behind them. “Especially for a waraxe. I'm not certain whether I should be applauding your luck or shaming your choice of weapon right now.”

The blond-haired warrior shrugged. “You wouldn't have me do nothing, now, would you? I couldn't let a comrade and warrior just die like that! Hell, I'd have done the same for you.”

The legionnaire scoffed. “Though you wouldn't have been so careful with your aim, I'm sure.”

Ralof just laughed in reply, sending a fresh surge of life through Reads-With-Tail's broken body. _Or perhaps it's the mountain breeze doing it._ Either way, the Argonian was the first of the trio to turn back to the door. Something flashed at the edge of his swimming vision, and in a completely instinctive motion he swept the shield through a broad arc. It caught an arrow out of the sky just in front of Hadvar's exposed right arm. The awl-sharp bodkin tip poked through the snow-soft planks of his shield and grazed the scales underneath, but after the rest of the abuse he'd taken that night it barely tickled. _In fact, against my scales, tickling is probably all it would have done anyway!_

Alarmed, the two soldiers whirled to where the archer and her entire crew had gathered to watch the rampaging maceman. Aside from her bow, every weapon drooped in amazement at the Argonian's miraculous survival. “They're mercenaries!” she barked at her followers. “Take them, or we'll have hired swords dogging us the rest of our days.”

Ralof snorted. “That's true either way, dearie. It's just a difference in the _number_ of days.” He'd tossed his axe to his left hand and unholstered his mace to go with it, and he rocked from side to side in his wide stance almost like a child bouncing on the bed.

“Mercenaries?” Hadvar replied, head quirked sharply. “We're no mere sellswords, thief,” he spat with just as much disgust as he'd turned on Ralof earlier that night. “If there's one thing the Legion and the Stormcloaks agree on it's what needs to be done to your sort.”

“Though you _did_ tell everyone you signed on for the retirement fund, Hadvar,” Ralof added in a murmur loud enough to be heard from Windhelm.

Two of the bandits had clearly been unnerved by Hadvar's announcement, Reads-With-Tail noted, but the others had taken heart from the situation and braced up their weapons anew. A falchion and two more longmaces came up alongside the leader's bow, and after some more anxious shuffling the whole group charged down the stairs to meet their attackers.

The whole group aside from their leader, who instead merely dipped to nock a fresh arrow. As tired and stiff as he was, Reads-With-Tail doubted he'd be able to deflect another shot – especially not if he actually tried to. But she held the bow taut, clearly uncertain who to aim for first or what to do if her minions got in the way. Hadvar tapped the young Argonian's aching shoulder gently. “You made a good start of it. Leave them to us.” _I'm only too happy to, Hadvar, and damn being a proper son of Skyrim any longer tonight._

The legionnaire twirled his spear overhead like an amateur actor before snapping it into a low ready position over his right hip. Both warriors' iron-shod boots punched through the snow effortlessly, giving them a purchase Reads-With-Tail could only dream of. And then the tide of howling Nords and Orcs reached them, and he quickly realized that they hadn't dreamed of it either.

Hadvar raised his kite shield high and bulled forward, stabbing under it as he went. Both longmaces had gone after him first, and one dropped gurgling to his knees with the shortspear buried up to the cross in his chest before he could even complete his swing. His mace fell from his nerveless fingers to roll gently off the shield's steel boss.

His comrade had been a little luckier, but Hadvar's sturdy stance and densely muscled shield arm completely deflected a vertical sweep that would have mashed Reads-With-Tail into paste if _he'd_ tried to block it. More than that, the bandit's charge had left him with precious little traction on the slick stone, and as his mace ricocheted back up off Hadvar's shield he found his entire body following it, falling forwards and sliding into the legionnaire's legs even as he twisted backwards. Panicked and shocked by his heavy fall, he kicked off from the scaled plating on the front of Hadvar's boots, finally upsetting the legionnaire's balance in turn.

As Hadvar staggered about, trying to find steady ground again, Reads-With-Tail turned to Ralof's half of the fight. He was still dancing with the trio who'd gone for him, not careless enough to charge into a mob no matter how terrified they were of his two weapons. But the two axemen who'd been rattled by the prebattle banter scuttled away from him to take advantage of Hadvar's sudden weakness, and that gave him his chance to pounce.

Leaving the legionnaire to fend for himself, Ralof hurled himself at the swordsman, who suddenly found himself very much alone. He caught the first strike of the Stormcloak's mace with the flat of his blade, bracing the single-edged sword with the palm of his off-hand. Even Reads-With-Tail could have told him that grip was all wrong, and he recoiled with a pitiful whimper as the mace smashed the tips of his fingers and jolted the sword out to carve into them at the same time. Another blow to the skull silenced the man before he could even drop to his knees. The young Argonian winced.

The wince turned into a powerful shiver that jostled his many bruises and cuts. His scales were thick and insensate now, his clothes completely soaked with blood and ice and then frozen over by the fresh drifting snow. _If we can't win this soon I won't even be able to get through the door!_

Hadvar had rallied, despite the renewed assault by not only the two axemen but also the surviving longmace. One axe had lodged in the thick oak laminate of his shield, its owner floundering pitifully in the snow where he'd seemingly tripped over the one of the corpses. And as Reads-With-Tail turned to watch Hadvar again, he lashed out at the other longmace's hand with his shield just before the man could connect with another wild swing. The youth gasped at the crunch of bone as the studded steel banding slammed into the poor man's – _Orc, rather_ – wrist.

Amazingly, the bandit still held his mace in both hands despite the impact, but Hadvar had no interest in disarming him. He merely held his victim's arms out of the way while he calmly lined up a thrust straight to the sternum.

_Then_ the mace fell to the ground.

The one remaining axeman lost his nerve yet again, darting between the two warriors and attempting to break out past the shivering Argonian. But something snapped in him as he ran, and he twisted back around at the youth with his axe stretched out to its limit. Frantically Reads-With-Tail raised his shield once again. The sideways shock of the blow nearly tore the grip from his clammy hand, but the enarmes held his trembling arm steady enough to recover. And the bandit had overcommitted to the attack, spinning wildly on the trampled snow and bloody ice.

But the boy had no idea what to do. He had no weapon at hand, and he couldn't imagine himself hunting for one with his second wind finally starting to blow over. So instead he steadied his stance, head darting and chest fluttering like a bird's. To his immense relief the ice proved too much for his assailant. The man went over on his rump with an indignant squawk, his axe clattering over the edge of the platform.

The other axeman had recovered somehow, drawing a belt knife and lunging in past Ralof's guard. The veteran Stormcloak had let his own weapons fall too and was wrestling with the underweight Nord, bending the knife away from him without a thought but struggling to gain a more permanent hold without letting it free. Then Reads-With-Tail's eyes went wide and his breath hissed as he finally looked at the archer again. She'd hesitated the entire length of the fight, unwilling or unable to take a shot into the melee, but Ralof's quarrel had spun him around until his back was square on to her. Whether she'd held that arrow taut the entire time or only just reacted to the opening Reads-With-Tail had no idea, but it didn't matter.

With a shriek that gave voice to his exhausted muscles' tearing, the young Argonian hurled himself at the two brawlers. His legs went entirely numb beneath him, clearly resigning in protest, but he still gained enough momentum to knock both Nords reeling to the ground and under the path of the arrow. His body was too light to quite follow them, though, and as he ricocheted up to his feet he felt the bodkin arrowhead knife under his left arm. It nicked his scales through the soaked and stretched fabric of his beloved shirt, but just like the shot to his _right_ arm it barely registered as a scratch.

His legs slid out from under him and he toppled back to the ground, twisting his left arm between his body and the stone. He heard something crack sharply, but he couldn't feel anything especially wrong with himself. Aside from the solid wall of pain crushing him from every angle, at least, but that had been settled in for some time; there was nothing new from this newest fall.

In spite of everything, he yawned. Reads-With-Tail was confident that the two senior warriors had the situation in full control. Energy entirely spent, the young Argonian closed his eyes again at last and surrendered to sleep.

 

Reads-With-Tail's stomach shook him awake. Sunlight rays drifted down from a massive hole in the roof he'd missed seeing earlier, dancing from little drifts of snow and dust. But though he could see the wind outside driving waves of powder snow across the break in the vaulted ceiling, the air on his face was pleasantly damp and almost warm. And the rest of his body was insulated in a greasy fur and leather bedroll that left him possibly the warmest he'd been in his life. Even with his stomach tossing his body about and his throat screaming for water, he was just so cozy that he didn't want to wake up.

He grudgingly stretched and started to roll upright in the Nord-sized sack. He only made it halfway before the bruises and scars went tight. The Argonian held himself as rigid as his aching muscles could manage, slowly lowering himself back down while his frame quivered and shook. And as he set his head back down he landed at exactly the wrong angle, his broken horn squishing against some waxy padding as he pushed it down on the black barrow-marble.

Reads-With-Tail tentatively pulled out his right arm, probably the less abused of the two, and reached up slowly to feel around the snapped left horn. The movement enraged his side and back, but he was quickly resigning himself to the fact that there was no motion that wouldn't do that right now. Despite the pain and the incredible tightness he willed his arm up over his head.

His snapped horn had been wrapped in a packet of linen and lashed down with what felt like one of the cords he'd used to keep his outfit in place. The waxy sensation he'd gotten when he landed on it wasn't there from the outside, but if he had to guess it was some simple poultice or other – ground wheat and the root pulp of a common mountain flower was a trusted blend for whatever reason, if he remembered Miss Berit's study guide on Skyrim alchemy correctly. That had been one of the only books she'd yanked away from him, though – _had to memorize it before she headed up to the College, she said_ – so he hardly trusted his memory on the subject.

“Ah, you're awake. Good!” Ralof's voice came from somewhere behind the young Argonian, who didn't waste what little energy he'd recovered by turning to look. “Slept well, I'd wager.”

Reads-With-Tail nodded, triggering a couple of wracking coughs. He held himself where the spastic motion had left him, halfway to sitting up, and tried to remember what he could of the melee. “So, er, we won? Where's Master Hadvar?”

“So glad to hear you care, lad,” Hadvar said by way of an answer. “We won, yes. All of the bandits between here and Riverwood are dead now.”

“That little tackle of yours ended the brawl, more or less, since I landed on his throat. Thanks for that, by the way, probably saved my life from that damned arrow.”

Reads-With-Tail squinted, though of course Ralof couldn't see his face. “You're not mad about that, Master Ralof?”

The Stormcloak cleared his throat. “Only that I got so distracted I forgot about her. Like I said, you probably saved me there. Even if it was like something out of a bad street performance!”

The Argonian let his head thump back against the ground, not even bothering to protect his snapped horn. “Well, you saved me first, and afterwards too. Several times. And you said it yourself, Master Hadvar,” he picked himself up perhaps an inch before falling again, abdomen no longer willing to hold up his head and chest. “I'm no warrior like you. You had to fight them while still guarding me. What if I'd distracted you, cost you the fight?”

His brow furrowed in strange frustration as the two warriors burst out laughing. “Really, Reader, where're you pulling all of this from?” Ralof asked once he finally settled down.

_Because I need to be better than this! I need to be worth it to you, to Ulfric! How else can I help my family on the docks?_ “You wouldn't understand,” Reads-With-Tail answered sullenly.

Ralof blurted out something loud and half-formed, but Hadvar's level and coherent voice cut through the noise. “I don't know about him – though I'm sure he wouldn't understand almost anything you could name. But I know _I_ don't. You caught arrows meant for both of us, took down three bandits yourself – including one who slipped past us both, remember? And you did it all after outrunning two trained Nords through a blizzard. That's an impressive list, just coming from this humble Legionnaire.”

Reads-With-Tail's head thudded against the ground yet again. _Well, if you put it like that..._ “Still, I'm not a warrior. And Ralof, isn't that what Ulfric needs me to be? Why Galmar picked me to run that letter out to you?”

Ralof's brigandine jangled as he shook his head. “Reader, Reader, of course you're no warrior! But I think I speak for both of us when I call you a novice, or a trainee, or whatever other term you feel like using. Inexperienced and eager, like so many in both our armies.” He paused a moment for thought. “Unless you're about to tell me that legionnaires spring full-grown from the ground?” Hadvar just snorted.

“A...novice?” The young Argonian turned his head slightly, resting on his undamaged horns. “I hadn't thought of it like that, I suppose.”

“I didn't imagine you had, no,” the Stormcloak veteran replied gently. “I won't be able to train you for as long as I'd like, and I'm sure Hadvar can't either, but between here and when we finally get to go our separate ways we can help you with that as much as you'd like.”

Reads-With-Tail closed his eyes again, his whole body truly relaxing at last. And immediately tensing up again when that pressed his bruised and battered back against the cobblestones. “Absolutely,” Hadvar was saying. “And if you're anything like the recruits I've worked with in the Legion, you're going to be absolutely starving right now. Even if I hadn't seen what you did to that fish last night it wouldn't be much of a guess.” Something clattered and sloshed as Hadvar moved in close to the boy's bedroll. “Here, kettle ought to keep it warm until you can sit up properly. Not much, of course, just carrot-apple-cabbage soup in boiled snow –” the hungry Argonian made a face at the unflattering description “– but it ought to help all around. Hungry, thirsty, and cold, I'd say it's good for all three.”

Ralof coughed. “Can't do more for your injuries, though. We needed the handful of potions we found to get out of Helgen alive, and I wouldn't trust anything we find down below. Who knows how long it's been sitting on some barrow shelf?” Reads-With-Tail nodded from his neck. “Just rest until you're ready to move. Trust me, Reader, if you're worried about being a problem in battle, it's better that you wait until you can stand up without cursing the whole pantheon.”

The young Argonian shook his head at that. _Cursing_ the Eight and One was the farthest thing from his mind. _Thank You, Talos,_ he thought at the sunny sky above. _I don't know what I_ did _to deserve the help You sent to me, but they're right. I'm a novice, no more or less. And I_ need _to be more to prove my worth to Skyrim. Just saying “I'm not there yet” isn't good enough, is it?_ He frowned. _I'm sorry, I really shouldn't be bothering You, especially not these days. But I promise I'll make myself learn as fast as I possibly can so You can go back to what You need to be doing. And again, thanks._

His eyes closed again, slowly and softly this time, and behind them danced visions of glory he'd never dared claim for himself.

 


	4. Chapter 4

The light from the broken ceiling had turned wan by the time Reads-With-Tail woke again, though the sky beyond was the firm blue of early afternoon. He coughed hard as he twisted up to face the stew cauldron Hadvar had left for him – his throat was full of dust and his back and chest still didn't want to flex that far, and between them his lungs were much emptier than they ought to have been. Still, he managed to find his balance, left leg twisted over right in the bedroll and weight on his right palm as he reached out to the kettle.

Despite Hadvar's promise the soup had already gone cold, and sadly there wasn't even any fat to skim off the surface to make up for it. _I guess that's the one flaw of a vegetable soup._ But Reads-With-Tail wasn't about to let that stop him. He tried briefly to lift the cauldron to mouth level, but quickly gave up as his left side spasmed. Sighing, he instead dipped his angular snout into the bowl and started lapping up the mix. He couldn't fish out any of the vegetables Hadvar had listed, which was probably for the better at this point. The lightly salted broth sloshed against the young Argonian's parched throat, and he savored the relief as he swished each mouthful around.

At last he'd had enough. He leaned back with a sigh of relief, opening his eyes properly at last. In spite of his injuries, Reads-With-Tail had had quite enough of laying about when there were heroics to be attempted, Nords who needed to be left impressed instead of just pitying. “Master Ralof?” he called into the softly lit chamber. “Master Hadvar?” he added after a long moment of silence. _Though if Ralof wasn't here he'd have answered anyway. They probably moved on to secure the barrow while I slept._ He made to slap his forehead but thought better of it as his arms burned. _Still, even if I am “just a novice,” this is unforgivably slack._

Galvanized by his guilt, Reads-With-Tail sprang out of the bedroll – well, as close to springing as his twisted leg and tense back would permit. _I'm on my feet now. That's what matters._

On his feet and entirely undressed. A fresh surge of energy shot through the boy as he belatedly realized that the two warriors must have peeled him out of his drenched, frozen clothes, and more urgently that he was now standing around in the chilly air with no idea who might be watching! He dove towards the low fire behind him by feel, not sight, confident that his outfit would be stretched out around the warmest place in the room to dry.

The dirt he ground into was itself dry, but it was also nearly as cold as the night air had been, and his injuries flared up again as the sudden chill made his whole body thrash. He crawled up to his knees stiffly, chest heaving against the shock. _The things you don't realize from deep in your bedroll..._ He had come to rest with his muzzle a scant handsbreadth away from a birch plank chest, propped open and draped in his thick linen outfit. His shirt was still damp as he grabbed for it, but the water that had worked its way into the quilted pouches had warmed up around the fire. It was cool and clammy against his scales, but not so cool as to be unpleasant anymore. And his pants had dried almost completely, only a faint tinge of damp left where some of the snow had worked into the wood beneath it.

 _Which is good, because if I don't die of embarrassment here I'll probably get to watch my limbs freeze up and fall away. It's_ cold _in here!_ The scrawny Argonian matched that thought with a full-body shiver that chased the air from his lungs yet again. The lukewarm moisture in his shirt was strangely comforting despite itself, at least, reminiscent of the humidity that filled the Windhelm docks on the warm afternoons that came once or twice a year. A good shield against the snowy draft that had just puffed through the room. He could feel himself shivering still as he pressed the padded cloth snug, could see his trembling ribs shaking the heavy fabric, but even though it felt cold it _felt_ warm.

His pants were more of a project, stiff as his right hip and both knees and ankles were, but they were also unarguably warm once he finally got them on and cinched the fraying cord belt around himself. _No sign of my footwraps, though. I wonder where they vanished to?_

No matter. Though the dirt was cold against his feet, the wrappings wouldn't have protected him very much, and while he'd certainly have been grateful for the support it wasn't some impossible loss either. Unlike winter clothes of fine linen, burlap strips came ten to a septim. So as long as he could _find_ a septim on this trip, replacing his soaked and shrunken footwear would hardly be a problem.

Instead of worrying further, the young Argonian stretched himself again and rose to his unimposing full height. He had peeked inside the antechamber to Bleak Falls Barrow before the battle, but he'd been too focused on the bandits to spare a thought for their surroundings. Yawning and blinking away what little sleepiness had survived his rude awakening, Reads-With-Tail looked around the room at last.

“Room” was far too banal a word to describe the Ancient Nordic architecture. Even with the roof caved in, and what looked like a support pillar and an altar smashed beneath the great black stones, it was still an imposing structure. And whatever had been buried on the one side seemed to be mirrored on the other, with a tall pillar of grey stone slick with moss just beside his bedroll holding up the vaulted ceiling. A squat barrow-iron altar loomed from just beside it, atop a slightly raised stone plinth. Aside from that stone, though, the entire floor was simple dirt all the way out to the heavy twin doors – once again shut, and this time without a hapless Khajiit crushed between them. The young Argonian winced at the memory, but the image drifted away with an easy shake of the head.

And that brought him to the other side of the room. The weapons from last night were piled in a neat stack against the far corner of the chamber, opposite from the chest his clothes had dried across. There was a curious pile of stone slabs stacked up behind the chest – not barrow-marble like the altars or the great black keystones of the ceiling, just mountain rock covered in dark moss and a glinting rainbow of lichen. Reads-With-Tail squinted at the rocks, unable to figure out where they'd fallen from, then shook his head again – much to his neck's displeasure. _It doesn't matter anyway._

The fire had drifted down to embers. Surrounded as it was by earth and stone, Reads-With-Tail felt no urge to properly douse and bury it. Two empty bedrolls were stretched out a safe distance away from the pile of ash and charred logs, with the others the bandits had left behind presumably tucked away somewhere out of sight. And just beyond the fire was a gaping round tunnel, roof almost perfectly smoothed despite the great black and grey rocks that tried to jut out into the hallways. Aside from a pair of barrow-iron sculptures Reads-With-Tail couldn't make out from the antechamber, all that disturbed the perfection of that tunnel were drifting spiderwebs.

And propped just against the entrance were his hammer, pick, and shield. At last there was enough light to properly examine the design the unfortunate Orc had left for him. The Argonian's face fell as he got a good look at it. Indeed, just as the bandit's chief had said, he'd detailed an off-purple unicorn on a bright white field. Fine green bands spiraled down the horn and up the hooves, probably the “detailing” the bandit had mentioned. If there had been anything on the haunch or along the ribs the axe blow had torn it off, though the paint around the gap seemed to have remained quite intact. Worst of all, it was a shield for the left arm, but since Reads-With-Tail was more comfortable mounting it on his right the whole beast would be upside-down!

“Not the most heroic image, is it?” he muttered into the tunnel before him. Still, it had saved him twice during last night's melee, so it might be a lucky charm all the same. Squatting as low as he could get without completely wrecking his back, he scooped it up and wormed his wrist through the enarmes once again. His grip on the handle was weak despite his best efforts, to the point where it was tiring just to clench his fist, so he relaxed it a little. The bulky roundshield weighed heavily on his wrist instead, but it wasn't inclined to slip off his arm even from a resting position.

The tunnel ahead was gloomy, but Ralof and Hadvar were already down there hunting whatever bandits remained. And for all that tales of the living dead unnerved him, Reads-With-Tail and Kennet had always talked about going exploring in one of Skyrim's many Ancient Nordic barrows. He ducked down once more and grabbed his pick, grasping its neck as firmly as he could and bracing himself on the shaft. Thus armed, he hobbled eagerly off into the gloom.

 

The broad mouth of the tunnel tapered quickly down to a slit. It was still tall, so tall that Reads-With-Tail could crane his neck all the way up and still not see all of the ceiling – or, to judge by the soft white light that filled the hall, the crevice in the mountainside. But as it hooked sharply left, then wrapped around itself and sloped again, he found himself instinctively walking at a slant and tucking in his shield. It wasn't all that narrow, but it definitely _felt_ that way, especially with rubble strewn across the cold dirt floor. And the... _is that a bookshelf?_

The posture, the slope, and the surprise were hard on the boy's balance, and one overlong step was enough to bring his momentum to a halt. He felt himself trying to fall downhill over his pick. He threw all of his weight backwards and held it, abdomen burning, until he'd caught his balance. The motion tore at his right calf, though, and even once he finally felt stable Reads-With-Tail couldn't make it move. Muttering darkly, the young Argonian leaned against the wall and thrashed his leg around in an attempt to release the cramp.

Roots and rocks prodded at his back. _Roots from what? I'm right under the peak of a mountain here!_ It wasn't a stretch to think he'd missed seeing a tree or two during the snowstorm and scuffle earlier, but it struck him as very far-fetched that there could even _be_ a tree up that high. _But thinking about it, maybe they were here from long ago? It would explain the crack in the ceiling, I guess. Like the way the woods outside Windhelm have ripped up the road._

Whether the roots were to blame or not, the damage to the hallway was undeniable. The fallen rocks were just as damp and dusty as the rest of the barrow, even the massive pile back up the corridor. The crevice might have just been that way, but that cross-hall had definitely seen a cave-in at some point. Reads-With-Tail could see light past those rocks if he squinted but there was no breeze to accompany it, just the warm humid cave air that was starting to put some color back in his scales and the comfortable scent of old cloth.

At least the rockfall had missed the polished hardwood bookshelf, though now that he looked at it there were no books to be seen. A barrow-iron...nightstand, for want of a better word, sat squat and ready just uphill from the shelves too, holding a lit candle on a pewter stand. Reads-With-Tail shivered in spite of the air. _Who lit it?_ He rolled his eyes at his own cowardice. _Ralof and Hadvar did. Besides, the stories always say the undead come out of the dark, right? Even if this was some sort of magic eternal candle, it's probably there to keep you safe, right?_

But he wasn't entirely convinced. The shelves and the stand were both stacked high with ratty old linen, but the cold dancing along Reads-With-Tail's spine spurred him to take a closer look. He flattened his bruised back even further against the wall once it clicked. Scissors, scalpels, what looked like a meathook on the hilt of a cleaver, and all of their blades dull with more than dust. _Well, the stories were true. I'm going to assume from that cleaver that the ancient Nords really did have to disembowel their dead to do the rest of the embalming everyone talks about._

His mind was calmer than he'd expected, but his body had decided to ignore its injuries and bolt down the corridor. It hooked left just ahead, the slimy rock wall lit by some out-of-sight flame, but Reads-With-Tail was more unsettled by the embalming tools he'd just seen than by the risk of running into something unpleasant around the corner.

 _Besides, if anything had been lurking down this corridor then Ralof and Hadvar would have killed it. Again, if necessary. And really, what's so scary about the knives?_ His breathing started to settle down. _It probably was an_ “eternal candle after all, there to light the storage space so the old Nords could pick out their tools when they took a new body down after the funeral upstairs. See, it all makes sense.” His heartbeat was back to normal, but his breath still came ragged. _I just don't want Ralof, Hadvar, or me to be one of those funerals!_ Especially not if the rest of the stories were true too. The ones about those well-preserved cadavers standing back up, grabbing weapons, and mummifying grave-robbers to build their army. _So I'd have just as many centuries as they've had to be a gutless, spineless wreck. So, in reality, not much of a difference – I just want to get_ over _that within my natural lifetime!_

His harsh breathing turned into a short bubble of laughter. And after that bubble popped, Reads-With-Tail felt braced and steady. Even his shaky legs and bad hip were lined up properly at last. _That's the second time the draugr have made me laugh. I need to remember that trick – if I can figure out what it is in the first place!_

The newest ramp down was slightly gentler than the last few twists, and not that much longer either – perhaps the same distance again as he'd already covered since waking up. The tunnel broadened considerably at the landing ahead, too. Reads-With-Tail felt his lungs open wide just at the thought. He could also see more rubble dotting the landing, though – _another cave-in? I hope nothing like that happens while_ I'm _here._

It was indeed another collapsed tunnel ahead, the slick black rock lit by a large coal brazier set into a granite pedestal. More light poured in through the open door on his right. “If my sense of direction is true, that collapse is on the same side as the last one. I wonder if there's something wrong about this whole part of the barrow?” The boy winced as his voice echoed around the low domed room. _Well, if there are any live draugr around, they definitely know I'm coming now!_

He turned to face the next room. There was an iron gate frame – common grey iron, it looked like – overhead and a series of perfectly round holes in the floor, but the bars were retracted now. The middle of the well-lit room held a lever framed on a barrow-iron plate, while directly across the cobblestone floor stood another gate – a porticullis, this time, with the pointed bars stabbing down from its dull black housing. And all around that gate was rubble from the balcony that ran above the wall, including a fallen decoration and the splintered remains of another shelf.

The young Argonian shivered. There was something very off-putting about the screaming Nordic faces carved into the granite wall, especially the one with the barrow-iron snake for a tongue. At least the whale-mouthed one was clearly meant to house the animal symbol, but the snake was just believable enough to be disturbing. It was also centrally located, so he hadn't been given the chance to process its neighbor. Or the fallen, shattered head in the massive slope of debris that ran up along the left wall. Whatever animal plate it had held was half-buried and deformed under the impact, but Reads-With-Tail thought he could make out a feathery wing.

He stepped forward into the room only to lurch back, right foot held high in the air. Something awl-sharp had ripped straight through the scales to chew at his flesh. His tail and left arm flailed to hold his balance while he hopped about, half-blinded by sudden tears. It was awkward and painful, but he eventually managed to take the needle in his claws and tug it safely out. The air around him had gone from rejuvenating warmth to stifling heat in an instant, or perhaps the pain had reminded his body that it was still cold from last night.

Reads-With-Tail held up the offending object, blinking and rolling his eyes to hold off the tears and the heat. One end of the metal fingerling was coated in his quickly congealing brown blood, but the other was clearly visible – a viciously sharp four-sided arrowhead with a tiny hole at the pyramid's cap. There was no reason to assume it wasn't shaped the same way on the bloody head. And, as he looked back out at the room, it was only one of the myriad that stood out at angles from the gaps between the floorstones.

The Argonian was shivering again now, his jaw chattering and tail locking up just like it had during the blizzard last night. _Definitely me getting colder, then. Wait, that hole! It was frostbite venom, I'm sure of it now._ The spiders' poison wasn't the deadliest around and it broke down quickly enough that poisoned prey was safe to eat the same day. Kennet had apparently turned quite a few septims selling it after a couple of spider-infested misadventures – hunters loved it not just for food safety but because of the way it put prey into a deep freeze for long enough that they could close the distance. The spiders loved it for much the same reason – not that they had a choice – and it wasn't a leap to imagine that draugr would take the exact same approach as everybody else.

And so it was that despite his shivering and stiffness Reads-With-Tail made himself limp into the room, taking exquisite care to mash each dart flat and knock it aside as he came to it. Some had already been crushed, probably by the warriors' boots, but it was still slow going. When he needed to catch his breath the boy looked off to his left, where three three-sided obelisks stood in small vaulted alcoves. The designs on their faces were the same as the ones in the mouths on the wall – _exactly_ the same, the Argonian realized, probably cast from the same mold – and, the more he thought about it, in the matching order from left to right. _Not the most subtle trick once you look for it, I suppose, but it's something that would let a priest in with no danger and keep an unwary grave robber out. Not a bad design. Though that dart was a nasty piece of craftsmanship._

Reads-With-Tail still hadn't tried taking the ramp up to the derelict stone balcony, but despite the presence of a bookshelf he had no intention of trying either. Perhaps he could get the warriors to stomp on the darts on their way back out, since clearing them with his pickaxe would take the rest of the year! And in all likelihood it was another supply shelf of some sort, perhaps with torches or timber for marching bodies down into the barrow proper. At least, that would make sense considering what he'd seen in the first hallway – though why there'd been no stretchers or torches _there_ bore thinking on. _Actually, I'm not sure that it does. I'm going to have enough nightmares after this without inviting them in._

At long last he'd reached the porticullis. This time, he took special care to slowly lean over the threshold and check the floor first. There didn't seem to be anything dangerous waiting for him, at least, only a few giant clay urns and some smaller pitchers and wine jugs. _No, not wine,_ Reads-With-Tail thought as he sniffed the air. _Salt water._ The scent of brine sent a sluggish surge of new life through him, or perhaps that was just his blood catching up with his heartbeat as the poison broke down.

A truly massive brazier stood at the pillar between two deep alcoves, casting light that made the matched pair of marble tables shimmer and glow. The flame was even powerful enough to shine some light on the dragon's claws of barrow-iron that held the tables up, and as the young Argonian leaned in close the slightly translucent stone seemed to drop down to the bottom of the world, lit from below rather than above. But there were more knives and hooks and linen wraps scattered about, making it obvious what the beautiful tables had been used for. It was a mercy that the ages had stolen away the stench. _Though that marble looks almost...comfortable._ His body had been crying out for rest since he woke up, but the table in particular invited him to lie down, curl up, and take a nap. _And then wake up with draugr cutting me apart, right?_ Even with the poison's effects gone, the boy still shivered...and yawned.

There was an empty three-log doorframe at the end of the stone hallway, flanked by torches that did nothing to illuminate the room beyond. Reads-With-Tail hefted his pick and shield warily – if there was anywhere he'd expect to find draugr, it was a place like that. Shield up and eyes down, he tiptoed into the shadow and left the embalming chamber peaceful once again.

 

The smell of decay slammed the young Argonian's head back almost as soon as he entered the dark chamber. Windhelm's docks had the same stench, but there it was diluted by the cold, by the wind and waves. Here it had been caught in a single chamber and held for gods only knew how long. The wood planking under Reads-With-Tail's feet was slimy with mold; the thick stone and mortar around him was simply slimy. _I can already tell that every step here comes with the understanding that the floor might finally give out._

The room was too dark to make out much more than the metal shaft that ran through the center, but as Reads-With-Tail felt his way along the circular wall the layout became clear. The wood paneling sloped down into a moderately steep spiral ramp, broad enough for him to feel comfortable despite the hole in the center. Even then, the support struts and central pole could probably break his fall if he reacted quickly.

As would the surprisingly soft floor, he thought as he stepped off the creaking wood at last. _Soft...and furry...and still warm?_ “Ack! Skeevers!” The oversized rats were always far more aggressive than they had any sense being, which wouldn't be much of a problem even for housepets if it wasn't for the sheer range of diseases the damned creatures could spread through their bites. “At least with vampires you'd know exactly what you need to go get purged afterward,” he muttered. Still, these skeevers were safely dead – presumably after an ill-considered attack on Hadvar or Ralof – which meant all Reads-With-Tail had to do was step past them and not breathe too deeply.

The room at the bottom of the spiral was nearly as dark, but bright white sunlight filtered through from somewhere up ahead. His eyes useless, the young Argonian shuffled forward cautiously. He held his weight on his sore right leg as he rattled his pick around by the neck to feel for obstacles. Right away he found one, another marble table judging from the muffled clack. And there was another obstacle, not something to trip over so much as a permanent annoyance – cobwebs everywhere. And, now that his eyes were adjusting to the distant glow, they only got thicker as the tunnel went on.

“I think I” _know where they got the Frostbite venom for those needles._ He choked down the air that he would have spent on that sentence. _Best to be quiet, though I'm sure they already know where I am. I'm tugging on the webs hard enough, aren't I, and I know there's at least one or two stories where squirming in the trap just summons the thing faster._ He couldn't spin the pickaxe around his wrist the way he'd seen Ralof do with the waraxe last night, but he wormed it around in his palm until he was carrying it properly again.

Even with his eyes adjusted it was still hard to see, but Reads-With-Tail kept his gaze focused on the webbed ceiling. The spiders that had ambushed him in the foothills of High Hrothgar had used the trees to terrifying effect, dropping down silently and jumping from branch to branch to keep after him, and if he was going to be attacked again – and he was sure now that he was – he could at least mitigate the shock when it finally happened. _Though the more apprehensive you are the worse it is when it comes, right? That's always how it is when I see a twist or scare coming ahead of time in a play._

He knew from the earlier experience that his ears were going to be useless, but he couldn't exactly turn them off either. And as he stepped out into the silvery sunbeams that flooded the end of the hall he started to hear voices. Voices he wasn't sure whether to be relieved or dismayed to hear.

“...My knife,” Ralof grunted. “I'm sure you don't have anything practical.” He paused for breath much too often, a fact which set Reads-With-Tail shivering.

Hadvar's reply was just as choked. “I left my fruit knife for the boy, remember? I wouldn't have been so generous if I'd known what was down here.”

That told the young Argonian all he needed to know. _So I got them trapped by a spider, because Hadvar took pity on me and left me the tool that could have saved them. I told them I'd be a distraction!_ Guilt, frustration, and general pain tugged at his eyes and nostrils until he finally gave in and started to cry. The air was much cooler than it had been above, chilling his eyes and scraping his throat as he started to lose control.

But then his mental voice firmed up, reforming its battle lines and counterattacking. _No good worrying about that now. Just fix your mistake and get them out before the spider gets hungry again._ The pain was still there, the blurred vision and raw throat, but the sobbing stopped almost instantly. Reads-With-Tail tugged his feet free of the webs once again and pushed forward, ducking between a grid of pillars completely silver with illuminated spider silk and into the brilliant chamber beyond.

The sunlight was almost overpowering after the barrow's shade, even with the minute or so Reads-With-Tail had had in the last hall to let his eyes adjust. He quickly scanned the wide oblong room before turning his eyes resolutely upwards. _The only things down here are web sacs, and unless I miss my guess Ralof and Hadvar are trapped in some. But until I'm safe from the spiders there's no sense in me poking through them._ The silver web and green stone made for relaxing colors, but the stickiness under his feet kept his body on edge.

His mind didn't need any encouragement, it was already ticking away as fast as it was going to. _Nothing, nothing, massive barrow-iron water grate in the floor, that thing isn't moving, and that leaves up. You know, I'm going to guess that they're hiding in the crevice that's letting all of this light in._ If they were at the right angle, deep enough in that the sun wouldn't hit directly, he wouldn't even see shadows. And it fit with the Frostbite spider's arboreal habits, as one of the many survival guide authors might have phrased it.

But knowing wouldn't do him any good if they just dropped on his head anyway. The thick webs would have crippled him even if it wasn't sticky, and he was crippled enough on his own. If he was going to beat even one modestly sized spider in a fight he'd need it do pounce on something that wasn't him. But there wasn't a chance that he'd toss away his pick or shield right before a fight, and there wasn't anything else close at hand.

Reads-With-Tail reluctantly took his eyes off the oddly circular shaft in order to find something to toss. A big, surprising impact with noise attached ought to wake up the spiders and give him a chance at the first strike. But it was tough to find anything when every other heartbeat he twisted back up to watch for ceiling climbers.

The closest thing to him proved to be a skeever-sized cocoon, and the only reason he'd even given it a second look was because it had rolled around loosely when he'd shifted his weight. His face twisted in disgust, he set down his weapons and stooped to try to pick it up. _It's not pleasant, but neither was watching that Khajiit last night..._ But that had been an accident, not something he was making himself do, and the strange and unpleasant feeling on his fingers and the overwhelming smell in the air made this simple act a thousand times worse than any sympathetic pain he might have felt.

The web sac crumpled in his grip, stray strands fluffing out and wrapping around his hands, but it came up off the stone as smoothly as he could have expected. Once it was up he spun in place, head whipping to and fro so much that his horns were starting to throb. _I left myself unguarded for so long just now! If one of them moved while I wasn't watching, it could be anywhere by now!_ But even then he had to trust that it would still pounce when it felt the desiccated skeever bounce off the web, and by then he'd have his pick and shield back on and be ready to deal with them. Even if he landed the first strike there was no chance he'd stop more than one of them at a time. Still, he could funnel them back into the array of pillars that connected this room to the last hallway, try to keep it to one or two that could actually reach him, and if he _truly_ had to run then the ramp and embalming room might also make for good chokepoints. _Fitting that I might die right next to the funeral table. At least if the spiders get me then the draugr won't...I hope._

He rocked back and forth a few times before finally taking a deep breath and hurling the crumbling skeever out into the circle of light with a scream that caught him completely by surprise. And not only him. Vibrations sang through the massive spiderweb pool as things up in the shaft reacted to the sudden disturbance. And, just as Reads-With-Tail swung his shield back into place over his right forearm, Ralof finally found the breath to speak.

“Reader? Oh, by the Nine, what are you doing down here? Get out! Quickly, before the spiders come!”

The Argonian desperately wanted to reply, to reassure Ralof he knew what was happening, but he could barely breathe himself. Even knowing the spiders were there didn't give him much confidence he could kill them, but with a little luck he could draw them away from the two warriors long enough for something to go right on their end. Or something. _I really didn't think this through far enough, did I? Oh, come on, spiders! Get out here before I completely lose my nerve!_

But what came down the shaft sent young Reads-With-Tail scuttling backwards anyway.

 

The spiders that had swarmed him in the woods had been perhaps a third his height and twice that long, at most. This...thing was mounted on spiky segmented legs each as tall as he was and then some. Ralof and Hadvar together would probably have fit in its abdomen, though it was hard to tell behind the twinned mountainous fangs, bloated and green with venom. Two multifaceted eyes sat well back behind an armor-studded brow ridge above those mighty fangs. Then a pair of massive scythes even longer than the legs swung out over its head, hooking into the web as it swung its mighty weight down to strike just above the skeever's landing spot. It spun about in an instant, rearing up and bringing its blades back into place. And worst of all, it did everything except the landing entirely silently, and even what should have thundered like an avalanche barely whispered across the layers of spider silk.

Reads-With-Tail raised his shield nervelessly, his limp grip doing little more than holding it in place. He had a little more care for his pick, which he twisted in his hand to bring the broader end to bear, but nearly all of his thoughts were consumed by the sheer scale of the thing he'd summoned down.

The giant considered him for a moment, hulking form swaying slowly as its eight legs pumped two by two. Then it reared up suddenly to expose what the Argonian momentarily assumed was a tail until it spat a dripping jet of silk at his chest. Reads-With-Tail instinctively shifted his body into a long stance behind his shield and the web simply drifted away, no more forceful than a snowdrift.

But behind it came the monster at the charge. There wasn't a chance the scrawny Argonian could have stopped it, but with the web all around he couldn't roll aside without leaving himself trapped for even longer. After being pinned by the maceman last night he had no intention of voluntarily getting stuck again!

 _I can't roll, but I can still move!_ It had checked its charge somewhat to raise and spread its fangs, and with only a breath to go before it struck at speed Reads-With-Tail pirouetted off to his right, closer to the center of the room. He let his pickaxe gather speed in his loose wrist as he spun, slamming it into where he expected his enemy to be. But it had moved even more easily than he had, the web glue no obstacle to it, and though it had gone skittering past him it was already nearly turned back around. Its left front leg skated along his right knee to rest against his bare heel; the alien sensation sent a spasm through the Argonian and he sprang away.

Finally he had just enough distance, though completely by chance. The monster was too close to mount another bull charge but still far enough away that it couldn't bite his head off just that instant. Reads-With-Tail staggered for just a moment more before finding his feet at last, widening his stance a little and bringing the shield back up just as his attacker completed its turn. Its claw came slashing down across his left shoulder, forcing him to twist into a very awkward position to block it. And punching his shield into the unsharpened bottom third of the limb left his back exposed to its other claw and his shoulder scant inches away from its fangs. The instant its first swing recoiled he forced himself to untwist while stepping back, narrowly avoiding a follow-up chomp that would likely have sawed through his forearm. All the while he had his eyes half-shut and his head twisted as far away as he dared, the creature's horrific face just as disorienting as any pose he could possibly hold.

 _This isn't working! It can attack me from too many places at once!_ The giant punctuated that thought with an easily countered slash to his right side followed by a downwards stab with the other claw that nearly drilled into his skull. _If I had Hadvar's shield arm or Ralof's dexterity I might be able to handle it, but I've got neither._ The fangs snapped out wide and clamped around his shield, twisting vigorously but not quite dislodging him before it gave up on that plan. Though Reads-With-Tail doubted he could have held on much longer, and his arm was throbbing in about nine different places.

The monster was rearing up again and Reads-With-Tail crouched and raised his shield against the torrent of silk that was sure to follow. But it had outmaneuvered him, forgoing the web and instead just dropping its massive weight directly onto him. With nothing else for it the young Argonian let himself fall, reaching across himself with his pick arm to catch himself without dropping his only weapon.

The chitin on his attacker's body was cold and hard, like sheet metal but more brittle, and bristles and thorny spikes jutted out of it and tried to press into his clothes. But the padded linen softened both the giant impact and the lesser pokes and prods, and his shield held its greatest weight at arm's length. Something thick and frigid trickled down the outside of his left sleeve to pool on the back of his hand, making Reads-With-Tail finally realize that his weapon had come to rest pick end up. _Then...is it thrashing just to get itself off my...?_

It seemed that it was. The wounded behemoth lurched back away at last, scuttling nearly back to the entryway as it struggled to rein in its momentum. Reads-With-Tail scrambled to his feet, shaking his pick hand to resettle his grip and clear off some of the _thoroughly_ nasty blood that had set his skin burning. His shield arm hung low, aching dully after the assault, but it still moved well enough. He glared at the monster as it finally recovered, and if he wasn't mistaken it actually quailed for a moment. _Just wishful thinking, I'm sure. I probably look pretty silly to it, actually, even if it is a little sore now._

But the spider was more than just a little sore. It actually seemed to be struggling to move – certainly not as smoothly as it had been. In fact, it looked like Kennet or Berit after a late night at the inn, its legs no longer pulsing in rhythm or quite touching the same places each time. Still, it was only angrier now, and it stumbled its way over to the Argonian with far more force than grace.

But, once again, he had time to react. _Your shield's a weapon too,_ the skalds and Stormcloaks all said. _No Nord goes into battle without two anyway, but a shield's at least more versatile._ And Reads-With-Tail put that philosophy into practice right there, matching the spider's attack with a charge of his own. It rose up to present its fangs again and he rammed his shield straight into them, feeling the wood strain against the spiny, thrashing chitin. Then, before it had a chance to respond, he slammed his pick out from across his chest, ramming it point-first into the root of the spider's right claw. It was a weak motion using weak muscles, and it felt like it had ripped out everything on the outside of his left upper arm, but he'd compensated for power with sharpness and what little body weight he had to spare. However he'd done it, at least, the splash of freezing, burning blood that soaked into the top of his hand told him he'd been successful.

As did the spider's reaction. It lurched away from him, pulling up into the corner just outside of the entryway and huddling there. The Argonian could see all five of its eyes now, three far larger pools of blackness spaced evenly across its face beneath the two he'd seen from the start. And all five seemed fixed on its suddenly flaccid claw as it flopped from side to side pitifully. Indeed, Reads-With-Tail felt his own left shoulder burning in sympathy at the sheer brokenness he'd just caused. The injured spider backed up into the web a little, flailing its remaining claw until it hooked on the strands overhead and pulled itself up. Slowly and clumsily it dragged itself back up the ceiling and into its shaft. Reader staggered into the center of the room after it, careful to stay out from underneath it, and watched it scuttle away pitifully.

His own energy fled with it, shoulders sagging as every fresh bruise and twist rushing forward to greet him at once. “Hadvar, Ralof, where are you?”

“What? Talos!” _That was Hadvar, though. But I thought Imperials didn't believe in Talos anymore._ “We're –” he broke down wheezing, but Reads-With-Tail was able to follow that sound just as easily as a voice. It led him to a pair of slowly moving web sacs lashed up against the back end of the cavern. _No, not the back of the cavern. There's light coming from back there, between the strands. Firelight._ “I feel you there, lad. Did the spider leave you alone?”

“I knew it was quiet, but I didn't think I was!” the young Argonian said with a shudder as he thought about the monster's alien movements and bizarre touch. “It's gone for now though. Here, I'm going to try to get you two out. I've just got my pick though, so it might take a while.”

“Go for my left hip – that's _mine_ , so your right,” the Ralof pod ordered. “I've got my knife there. It'll be much handier for sawing through the rest of the web.”

Reads-With-Tail did as instructed, holding the broad edge of his pick just short of the blade and sawing gently through the threads. As he worked he finally realized he was still carrying his shield, at which point his exhausted arm simply let it fall to the ground. He looked away for a moment when it failed to clatter, but it had only skimmed off of the dense webbing at the foot of the two warriors' cocoons. Curiosity satisfied, the young Argonian turned back to his job.

The rest of the work went much faster once he finally reached Ralof's blade. The threads parted far more easily under the longer, leaner, and less cumbersome blade. And Hadvar's seemed to fall away in no time at all with Ralof free to rip away any sheets that fluttered loose. “Thanks, lad,” the legionnaire said as he finally stood up, panting.

Both of them were still fully outfitted. Ralof's weapons had been loose in his hands when he came free; Hadvar's spear was slung and his shield had given them some trouble in cutting him down. In his other hand was something that had been even less helpful – an elegant gold dragon's claw just like the ebon ones that held up the embalming tables above. “Is that –” Reads-With-Tail started to ask.

“– What we're here for? Aye, that it was.” Ralof had caught his breath but seemed to be using it mostly on bitterness. “Also what got us caught. By a lone damn spider.”

Hadvar either nodded or stretched his neck – either way, it left the Argonian feeling stiff and even more comprehensively sore in sympathy. “That's more or less it. I saw the handle of the claw,” he spun it around in his hand to show Reads-With-Tail the cylinder that jutted out from the claw's wrist, “poking out of some poor bastard's web sac. It must have been one of the bandits who ran down here ahead of his fellows. In any case, Ralof came up to help me cut it free and then something flattened both of us. We woke up stuck in the webs ourselves.”

“I figured it had to have been a lone giant to take both of us out at once like that,” Ralof growled. “Should've seen it coming ahead of time, though. Pitiful, a Stormcloak bested by a wild beast!”

Hadvar smirked. “My Legion pride isn't too happy with how it played out either, Ralof, but it's at least reassuring to see the sort of enemy I'll have to worry about when we next meet.”

“Oh, sod off.” _I guess being trapped by a giant spider for several hours takes away your creativity. Or he used it all on the spider and doesn't have any to spare now._ “We've got what we came for, now let's make like Elves and run away to call ourselves the victors, eh?”

Reads-With-Tail was still curious about the firelight beyond the webs, but he was too sore and tired to push the issue. He could only hope the three of them had the energy to get back to the surface, perhaps even out of the tunnels altogether once they'd had a little food and fire. There could be more spiders somewhere, and he hadn't noticed a single embalmed corpse, walking or otherwise. And besides, if the fading sunlight down in this cave was refreshing, he could only imagine what fresh mountain air would do!

The trio started off for the pillars, Reads-With-Tail reclaiming his shield along the way. The webs shivered underfoot in a way he hadn't really noticed before – indeed, he only noticed now because it set the dart wound throbbing again. He turned around stiffly, suddenly realizing just how badly he'd let his guard down as the crippled Frostbite spider spat another jet of web through the air at them. It caught him fully in the chest this time, and his ribs rattled wherever the layer of venom soaked through his shirt.

But the motion had caught the warriors' attention. Ralof fumbled for his mace, but Hadvar was much faster to draw his spear. He held it close up to the neck, leaned back, and hurled it straight at the spider in less time than it had taken Reads-With-Tail to realize it was there. The makeshift javelin flew true, punching through the spider just below the abdomen. It fell to the ground, spinning gently to land on its belly with none of the grace it had once possessed, and Hadvar immediately marched across the webbed floor to retrieve his weapon. “Just couldn't leave it at that, could you?” he muttered just loud enough for Reads-With-Tail to hear.

The spider squirmed but it was obviously dying, its legs kicking entirely at random and both scythes and fangs twitching with no force behind them. But Hadvar wasn't about to risk it recovering, it seemed. He held his spear point-down, both hands high on the shaft, and stabbed hard into the creature's head. Then again, and again, four times, regular and precise as a master smith, until at last the Frostbite spider lay completely still. Reads-With-Tail looked at Ralof and saw what he could only imagine was the perfect mirror of his own slack-jawed expression.

The legionnaire stalked back over to them. “And that, Ralof, is how you throw a hand weapon _properly._ Now, are we ready to put this place behind us?”

“Aye, we'd best go before you start trembling again, Hadvar,” the Stormcloak replied, but to Reads-With-Tail's ears it was hollow. _At least the mission is done, for all three of us. We get out of here, get some sleep and a little traveling money, and we can forget all about this._

 _Well, maybe they can,_ he made himself add as the silver light faded behind them. _I'm going to be dreaming about it the rest of my life. I may have been brave, or at least crazy enough to pretend I was, but I don't know how I'll react if I ever see another one of those things. It was so big, it was so monstrous, it was so...so big!_

Hadvar and Ralof were quiet as they worked their way back upstairs, and Reads-With-Tail wished they wouldn't be. He didn't want to start the nightmares any earlier than he had to.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Reads-With-Tail stretched to the sky, twisting everything from his neck down to his tail until the sleepiness popped out. A short gust of powder snow swirled around him as the great barrow doors rumbled shut. Fingers interlaced over his head, the young Argonian twisted around over his left shoulder and gave the two warriors an upside-down grin. Then some treasonous muscle in his lower back gave way, and he found himself rocking on his tail in the snow.

He stood up alternately laughing and coughing. Ralof and Hadvar were just as amused, though the legionnaire's chuckles vanished into a huge yawn. He'd had the late watch overnight, though Reads-With-Tail remembered him being fairly restless even before that. And since the Argonian's attention had been locked to the tunnel down to the spider den from dusk until dawn, Hadvar's “restlessness” had to have been something spectacular in order for him to notice it at all.

“That's why we don't stand double watches, lad,” Ralof called as Reads-With-Tail dusted off the airy snow. “Not unless we need to, at any rate.”

The boy shrugged. “I think I needed to, Master Ralof. I wouldn't have been asleep anyway, and I had to know there...there...” He trailed off, the words easily outrunning his exhausted mind.

“Well, considering what you did to the last one, I think you'd have done just fine.” Ralof gave Reads-With-Tail a soft smile and the Argonian returned it as best he could. _That really is reassuring, coming from him. Though it was Hadvar who killed it. I just spooked it, though I suppose that's only fair since it certainly did the same to me!_

Nightmarish or not, the barrow's gloom was behind them now, a warm and inviting blue sky overhead and clear all the way out across the river valley below. The air caught and bit at his nostrils with each breath, his scales had flash-dried and were already itching, and the path down the mountainside was still carpeted with that massive squall, but the beckoning sunlight was worth it all “Can we see Falkreath from here, do you think?” Reads-With-Tail mumbled.

“Falkreath _hold_? Aye, easy,” Hadvar replied loudly enough to make the Argonian jump. “It cuts directly south of Riverwood and runs all the way through that forest to the west.” He swept his gauntleted hand over Reads-With-Tail's right shoulder expansively. “If you mean the town, then no. It's in a hollow below those mountains off there.”

The Argonian shaded his eyes more from habit than necessity as he looked at the three granite incisors that jutted out of Falkreath's canopy. If he craned his neck hard enough, which was still painful to try quickly or long, he could see another handful of spires creeping away back to the north and the mossy sheen of shallow water just at the fringe of his view. “What about Riverwood, then? I thought this whole stretch of river was still part of Whiterun.”

Ralof answered this time, though Reads-With-Tail heard Hadvar inhale to reply too. “You'd best ask my sister about it. It's her mill, and she's sort of the village historian because of it. Well, there's Milady at the inn too, but Hadvar and I could never decide what she did besides march around sounding imperious. It's Hod who actually runs the place.”

_Milady? I don't think he seriously meant nobility, but I haven't actually seen Riverwood yet. You never know, do you?_ “Well, I'm looking forward to it!” Reads-With-Tail chirped. Both warriors laughed.

“I'm sure you are, lad,” Ralof said with pride. “But we need to cut back through that blizzard to get home, and it's another good hour or two of switchbacks and dirt trails once we're beneath the snowline. You sure you're not going to collapse on us again?”

And the warm feeling was gone, and the freezing air rushed into his lungs to take its place. “I should be fine,” the young Argonian answered softly, looking down over his right arm. “I've had as much food as you two –”

“I'll say!” Hadvar remarked with a laugh.

“– and I'm sleepy but it's not too bad.” Reads-With-Tail was still cringing, though. “I know I don't have your stamina, not yet and probably not ever, but –”

Ralof sighed with exasperation, which let Hadvar beat him to actually speaking. “Reader? That's not what he meant. We're not doubting what you can do, we just wanted to be sure you were ready to do it _now_.” The legionnaire lowered the arm he'd been pointing with earlier to pat the boy's shoulder, but Reads-With-Tail recoiled. “All right, have it your way. We're setting off downhill once we've had our fill of the scenery, and I for one think it'd be an excellent way to prove you can keep up with us.”

Ralof coughed. “Damn it, Hadvar, why do you always beat me to saying the nice thing?”

“Perhaps because it comes to me naturally, while you have to force it?” If it had been any other two people Reads-With-Tail would have laughed at the jibe, but Hadvar's voice coated it in venom.

“That's what you...this whole thing isn't because of the damn dares I used to make? By the Nine, if I'd known there were spiders like that in there _I_ wouldn't have gone up to the barrow door!”

Reads-With-Tail had turned around to face the two warriors, and Hadvar's deadly bleak expression tempted him to keep on turning back to the river valley. “It figures only an idiot Stormcloak would be that focused on childish competition over anything that actually matters. You've even spread it to the poor bastards trapped in your wreck of a city – look at Reader and tell me you and your precious Jarl's 'dares' aren't to blame!” Ralof and Reads-With-Tail recoiled together. “Try using your sense for once, if there's any Ulfric hasn't yet rotted out of your head. I'll wait for you at Lucan's, once your manly Nordic ideal staggers down the mountainside with that claw.”

And with that Hadvar wheeled and stomped off down the stairs into the storm. Reads-With-Tail and Ralof stood on the platform, just blinking slowly as they tried to figure out what had just happened. “Ralof?” the Argonian said at last. “I don't blame you or Ulfric for anything. I'm not even sure what he was talking about.”

Ralof grunted. “Probably best.” He turned back to the narrow vista the broken peak gave them, arms folded across his chest. If it wasn't for his slowly drifting blue sash he could have been a statue.

Reads-With-Tail matched his posture as well as his aching body would allow. The mountain shadows were starting to edge across the valley beneath them but the far slope was still perfectly sunny, spirals of blue and purple and red erupting along the cliffs where the wildflowers bloomed. Silver and green leaves cast shadows of their own on the rock below. The Argonian took another slow breath, imagining he could smell the warmth and the loam. It was a beautiful part of the world, though all he'd seen of Skyrim held beauty of its own, and he was content to stand here with the sun warming what the wind chilled.

It would be better than catching up to Hadvar.

 

Reads-With-Tail could have stood there the rest of his life drinking in the sun and clear air. _Well, at least the rest of the afternoon. Staying out after dark probably would make it the end of my life!_ But Ralof had considerably less patience, and his armor no doubt chilled his arms and weighed down hard on his feet, and the Stormcloak warrior eventually set off at a stiff trot down the stairs. The Argonian finally looked away from the sun-soaked river valley and followed right away.

Ralof had vanished into the furious snowstorm already, and Reads-With-Tail raised his shield arm high and plunged in again. The winds buffeted him from every angle, the snow quickly caked his clothes and soaked deep into the padding. The warmth of moments before made the sudden freeze even more brutal than it had been the first time, and it felt so much damper and heavier too. The boy's lungs raged, his ribs aching with the coughs his harsh breathing packed down, but he kept up the dash downhill.

And, just as he had the other night, he felt himself tripping and sliding. He hadn't twisted his leg this time, just gone over as he encountered some ice near the surface, but his momentum carried him tail over tip down towards the end of the trail. And tail over tip it was; his broken horn blazed with sudden pain as he bounced it off the ground and his poor tail knotted and curled in at least three places. And then he hammered against the last peak in the chain, shield, tools, back, and tail rapping against the rocks at different times and angles as his torso arched around it.

Coughing and wincing, Reads-With-Tail slowly dragged himself away from the granite, pushing off hard from his free palm in order to break off the quickly hardening ice. “Right,” he gasped, getting a mouthful of snow for his trouble. “No more running for me.” His tail jerked and coiled with a mind of its own and yanked the boy's already fragile balance all about after it. He lunged forward with his shield arm to counterbalance himself, an act that nearly sent him down on his face but at least made his tail marginally less important, and fumbled for his pickaxe. The young Argonian puffed out his cheeks and narrowed his dangerously iced eyes further in frustration as he struggled with the burning cold metal, but eventually the frozen seal over his recalcitrant tool crumbled apart and let it come free. He wasted no time in leaning heavily on it, catching his breath at last.

Staggering, the boy made his way back up the hill towards where the path hopefully still lay, tapping the hard ground with his pick after each step. Even with the makeshift crutch his motions felt painful and alien. His tail still knotted spastically rather than hanging down steadily behind him, and his entire lower back and abdomen already ached with the strain of simply keeping his body in line. But he trudged on, working his way down towards where the dry trail ought to be by feel and instinct.

And then there it was, visible even to his frost-encased eyes, the wonderful sunny valley and its black spears of shade. Reads-With-Tail lurched out through the last few paces of the storm into the pocket of stillness and warmth the switchback created. To his complete lack of surprise, Ralof was there waiting for him. More surprisingly, the Nord's face was creased with concern and his arm was outstretched as if in wonder. “Master Ralof?” the Argonian croaked, throat too raw from exertion and exposure to be coherent yet.

“Reader!” Ralof's jubilant shout jostled snow down from the rocks behind them, what it did to Reads-With-Tail's already battered hearing was indescribable. The boy pouted and shook his head furiously, waiting for the pain to recede enough for him to hear his friend again. But he didn't need ears to understand the mighty hug the Stormcloak wrapped him in. His pout fought to ease, but the burning brand of Ralof's mail shirt against his soaked chest only wound his muscles tighter and eroded what remained of his patience.

“Ralof, put me down,” he said. At least, he hoped he's said that. The warrior stooped and set him free gently, so clearly he'd at least gotten the point across. “I'm not in the mood right now.”

His ears had been what he could only describe as numb to sound, but now the curiously echoing rush was giving way to softer yet even more disconcerting ringing. It was soft enough for Ralof's words to filter through. “...That happens, Reader, believe me,” he said apologetically. _“I hate it when,” maybe?_ “If your name is anything to go by I'm going to guess you know all about the famous Nord Warcries?” Reads-With-Tail nodded jerkily, his back starting to crumple under the weight of his uncooperative tail. “Well, let's just say it's not always something we mean to let loose. You join the Stormcloaks, you'd better find yourself some proper earmuffs first.”

The big warrior grinned at him widely and the Argonian couldn't help but smile back, but it quickly turned crestfallen. “Me, join the Stormcloaks?” His teeth chattered around the words as his frozen chest warmed up just enough to feel cold. “I...I'm a diver, Master Ralof. I scrape barnacles off the hulls of fishing boats for a septim. I only made it this far because I had you and Master Hadvar watching out for me.”

“That little pay for that kind of work, eh?” Ralof stared out past the boy's horns. “No matter.” He squatted down to meet Reads-With-Tail's gaze and brought his grin back. “Half the boys we've had joining up with us wouldn't even dip their toes in that water! And of course you only made it on the battlefields because you had your comrades at your back. That's why we're the Stormcloaks, and not just Ulfric and Galmar against all Tamriel. Though they might be able to handle that fight,” he added with a chuckle.

“I'd bet they could!” Reads-With-Tail replied with feeling.

“Just think on it, lad, all right?” The boy nodded again. “For now, let's get down to Riverwood and a good hearth fire before we lose the light.”

The Argonian was shivering in earnest. “No argument here, Master Ralof,” he stammered out around his clattering jaw.

The Stormcloak reached out and put his mighty arm around Reads-With-Tail's shoulders, then slowly shifted it to the square of his back as he felt the fresh knots. “Though I think we'd both be happier if you stopped ending up like this.” Even with the warrior's rigid glove, the touch was gentle and in exactly the right spot to prop up Reads-With-Tail's weary spine.

The boy's face flattened with pleasure and relaxation. _I think this is exactly what I needed right now._

 

The duo made their way leisurely down the mountainside, rounding the watchtower as the sun crossed behind it. The stone path gave way to dirt just ahead of them, the last snow puddled into mud. A fresh breeze was gusting down along the path from further up the hill. Judging by Ralof's quickened step and happy face it was supposed to be refreshing, but to Reads-With-Tail and his drenched outfit it was a new experience in misery.

And the warrior seemed to notice, finally taking his hand off his charge's back and then suddenly whipping it around in shock. “Talos, that's cold! I don't know who made that coat of yours, Reader, but it certainly can hold water!”

“That's –” _dare I say it?_ “– cold comfort right now, Master Ralof.” Then Reads-With-Tail's wet and heavy cough axed through Ralof's laughter and blotted away his wide smile.

“And _that's_ bad news,” the Stormcloak said as if either of them didn't know that already. “We are getting you to the village tonight and that's a promise. And paws be damned, I am going to barricade you in the general store tomorrow until you find some boots that fit you.”

_Assuming I'm even moving tomorrow,_ Reads-With-Tail thought of saying. But he'd spent most of his life submerged in arctic water, and after that a little mountain snow ought to roll off him as easily as spring rain. _Ought to. But after that cough I'm not –_ His thoughts broke off as suddenly as Ralof's laughter as another coughing jag rattled his chest. “Yes, please, let's move.” Even running into Hadvar at his least pleasant would be better than another night of exposure. Marginally.

They quickened their pace after that, Ralof always a step or two behind his young companion with his arms out protectively. For his part, Reads-With-Tail was torn between gratitude and stubborn resentment. _I don't want to need protection! I want to be strong enough to survive this alone like he is. Like_ they _are,_ he supposed, remembering that Hadvar had made the trek back down without even a friendly face to look forward to at the end of the blizzard. _He may be a legionnaire, but he's just as much a Nord as Ralof is._ Though hopefully he wouldn't subject the Argonian to a second barrage of sound; Reads-With-Tail doubted his ears could withstand that. They were still ringing even as the duo slipped down into the pine grove where Ralof had first found him.

Which gave him a handy excuse for not hearing whatever started Ralof. He looked over his shoulder when his companion halted, fingering his axe. “Easy now,” the warrior whispered. “You've had enough abuse for today, I'll follow it.”

“It?” Reads-With-Tail wasn't a professional by any stretch of the imagination, but even he knew to drop his own voice to a whisper too.

Ralof looked amusingly nonplussed. “Ah, that shout must have hit you even harder than I thought. I'm sorry for that, lad, I really am.” Then his voice dropped back to a hiss. “Something crunched in the undergrowth out there. And the bugs are much too quiet for a night like this.” He pointed with his chin just enough for the Argonian to get his meaning. “Stay here, keep your shield ready.” And with that he whirled on the offending bush and quickly crashed out of sight.

The wind picked up, pressing Reads-With-Tail's frigid shirt against his back even more firmly. The boy whimpered. He quickly choked back the pitiful noise, but if Ralof was still in earshot then the damage was probably done. _What did you hear?_ He lifted his shield as high as his flagging muscles would allow and spun slowly around to scan the forest. There was movement in the bushes, plenty of it, as the wind flicked the leaves from their green backs to their silver bellies and back. And Ralof could still be heard rustling somewhere out of sight, _probably right around where he caught me that first night. But who'd be there?_

“Aha!” came a triumphant shout from deeper in the wood. Either his ears were healing at last or Ralof was just that loud. _Unfortunately it's probably the latter._ A bush snapped and splintered suddenly and Reads-With-Tail hefted his pickaxe, throwing his balance back into jeopardy once again without the crutch. Then someone squealed with power to match Ralof's war whoop earlier, but in a voice higher and clearer than even Reads-With-Tail's at his best. _Bandits? Bandit kidnappers?_ He willed himself into the closest he could come to a fighting stance, wary of the drop off the trail at his back. His eyes narrowed, his mouth drew back at the corners. “Just give the word, Ralof, I'll come.” _For what good I'll do._

The commotion suddenly quieted and Reads-With-Tail's heart sank. _Though I don't know why. Ralof probably flattened whoever it was without any difficulty, just like he did to the bandits up at the barrow!_ But that thought did little to soothe the young Argonian. Then the cracking and crashing started up again and the warrior emerged from the bush, his face split by an ear-to-ear grin. He gripped a young Nord girl by the shoulder; she pouted up at him but clearly had to struggle not to smile instead. _Ralof seems to have that effect on people, doesn't he?_

“Reader!” Ralof called out, ducking his head in apology as the Argonian flinched from the noise. “Reader, I'd like you to meet our ambusher here.” He gave the girl a soft push that sent her stumbling and hopping out onto the trail, and she gasped as she got a good look at Reads-With-Tail. He was tempted to do the same – her simple red dress was tattered and dirt-stained, with twigs and leaves clinging to her shoulders and long braided brown hair. In the time it took him to process all of that, though, she'd seen all she needed to.

“Are you an Argonian? You are, aren't you? I've never seen a real Argonian before! Father says you worship trees, is that true? Oh, what's it like having a tail? Tell me, please! I've always wondered what it would feel like.” Reads-With-Tail didn't think she'd paused for breath even once, and from her face she probably had another few dozen questions lurking in wait. _Our ambusher, indeed!_

Still, her enthusiasm spread easily, and despite feeling stifled by the barrage of questions the boy still felt refreshed enough to answer what he could. “Er, in order, yes, I'm an Argonian. I'm from Windhelm, actually, so I don't really know anything about the Black Marsh tradition except what Neetrenaza's told me.”

“You're from Windhelm?” The girl's eyes went wide. “Just like Mister Ralof? Ooh, are you a Stormcloak too? Uncle Hadvar probably doesn't like that,” she said with sudden sternness.

Ralof chuckled. In fact, he hadn't stopped chuckling since the girl had first started talking. “Not a comrade yet, but a friend. Saved my life, in fact. Hadvar's too.”

_If your eyes get any wider they'll break your jaw._ “I, er, I suppose I did. They rescued me plenty of times before and since, though.”

Ralof held up his hand before the girl could come up with even more questions. Reads-With-Tail took the opportunity to exhale, letting his body relax a little as the onslaught stalled. “Manners, both of you. You don't want to go all the way back to Riverwood calling each other 'girl' and 'lizard,' do you?”

She huffed, but then nodded. “You're right of course, Mister Ralof. I'm sorry, I'm Dorthe. I'm Alvor the blacksmith's daughter.”

Reads-With-Tail stepped forward, dipping a quick bow before his abdomen knotted and yanked him back upright. Wincing ruefully, he offered his hand instead. “And I'm Reads-With-Tail, a dockworker from Windhelm. Er, I said that already, didn't I? Um, what...er...” _Ralof, help!_

Dorthe had her own plans for the conversation though. “Reads-With-Tail? Is that a real name? Oh, it sounds like something out of a storybook! Do you really use your tail when you read, then? Oh, and what's it like in Windhelm? Ralof's said a bit when he's come home to visit his sister, but I want to hear it from someone who actually lives there!” She paused for breath, but the Argonian couldn't even start to reply before she pushed on. “How about the rest of Skyrim? I've never been farther than the outside of Whiterun when my father took his wares to the market. And how do you know Mister Ralof? If you're not a Stormcloak I don't know why other Stormcloaks would want anything to do with you.” She gasped, quickly looking up at Ralof for any sign of a reaction and flinching away from his suddenly crestfallen expression. “At least, that's what father and Uncle Hadvar say.”

“I, er, where to, er...” Reads-With-Tail's hand still drooped out in front of him, his elbow and shoulder starting to ache. His head and his balance spun in equal measure. _I could spend all year answering just the questions she's asked right now!_ And the sun was dipping below the mountains at last and dusk was flooding the valley from right beneath it. A fresh cough tickled at his ribs as his already chilled limbs turned ever more leaden.

“Dorthe, come on, lass. Take the boy's hand.” Ralof winked over her head at the Argonian, and he wondered why. Then his hand burst into flame, or at least it felt that way, as the girl reached out and clasped it in both of her own courteously.

Dorthe started to pull away, but at the same time her grip tightened down. His hand was large enough that she needed to stretch her fingers to even cross his palm, but she was quite determined to cover as much of it as she could. “You're so cold! Come on, Reads-With-Tail, I'm taking you back to the Sleeping Giant. Now!” She started running, hands still wrapped around his as tightly as they could go, and the sudden motion destroyed what little balance he still had. He went over on his chin, dragging Dorthe down on top of him, and her yelp of surprise turned into cries of pain from both of them as she landed on his upturned horns.

She scrambled to her feet quickly, still holding Reads-With-Tail's hand by reflex, and he followed her up more slowly. He coughed hard several times, clearing the pressure he'd just had put on his throat and transferring most of the pain to his badly battered ribcage instead. “Are you all right?” they asked each other in unison. Coughing and panting gave way to nervous giggles as the pain started to settle.

Ralof just stood there laughing, his arms folded, as they pulled themselves upright and Reads-With-Tail got his kit sorted out. _I really need somewhere to stow this shield, don't I?_ “Sorry, Dorthe, I probably should have warned you. Reader's had a hard few days.”

“I bet you all have, Mister Ralof,” she said, her chirpy good humor restored. “That's why I came out here. I was worried about you and Uncle Hadvar and figured I'd watch every day until you got home.”

Something about that comment tugged at Reads-With-Tail's mind, but he couldn't place it. From Ralof's sudden frown he was feeling the same thing. And then... “Wait! Dorthe, didn't you see Hadvar come down the trail earlier?” Ralof swore viciously as the Argonian's realization hit him too. “We, um, got separated earlier.”

“You mean he was feuding with Ralof again, don't you?” Dorthe sighed, pointedly not looking at the Stormcloak. “I haven't seen him pass by here today, or any night since you left.” Suddenly the enthusiasm drained out of her voice. “He's still okay, isn't he?”

“Up until now I thought so,” Ralof replied in a rush. “Damn Imperial fool.”

Reads-With-Tail winced, looking up the switchbacks at the peak. The icy, blustery peak. “Ralof, you don't think he –”

“– Fell somewhere in the snow? Aye, that's got to be it.” The Stormcloak shook his head. “He might be Legion, but that's...I shouldn't have goaded him.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“You mean this morning? Because I don't think you did anything wrong, Master Ralof.” Reads-With-Tail tugged on the Nord's mail sleeve like a little child.

Ralof kept shaking his head. “You wouldn't, would you?” Dorthe's announcement had left him gutted, his joy and vigor bled dry. The Argonian expected him to sag to his knees, but he merely swayed silently, resolutely not looking at Hadvar's niece. She was just as broken as he was, trying to sob but finding no tears.

Seeing his hero stunned sparked something in Reads-With-Tail. He stooped, sliding his hammer out and placing it on the ground, then dragged himself back upright and leaned hard on his pickaxe. One painful step at a time he marched back up the trail towards the tower, his eyes fixed ever forward.

 

The Argonian's tail was starting to feel more like itself by the time he reached the watchtower, but something was still quirked out of place towards the tip, something he had to constantly swivel his body to counterbalance. It was dizzying and draining but at least it let him pick up the pace. “Hadvar is still up there,” he said as he panted for breath. “And he needs help now.” _Actually, he needed help hours ago, but you didn't see him then. What makes you think it'll be better now?_ “Because I'm looking this time.”

Reads-With-Tail had no idea where he'd found the stamina to keep moving, but he wasn't about to complain as long as it didn't run out. The sun had finally vanished completely behind the western mountains, dying the sky overhead a soft light blue that burst into brilliant orange past the peaks. But that flame would fade soon, and when it did he knew he'd start feeling his clothes freeze over him. Still, they were as wet as they were going to get, and he shrugged to loosen them slightly. _Might as well keep wearing them, at least until I'm out of the storm. Then I can ask Ralof and Hadvar if I can take them off to save my life._

It wasn't going to take proper nightfall or the blizzard up above to chill him, though. The wind and the altitude were already pressing the stiff fabric against his scales, leeching out what little warmth remained in him. He stopped at last just as he rounded the rock wall that started the switchback past the tower, doubling over and coughing furiously. His vision went white as he screwed his eyes shut, pulsing yellow with each jarring cough. Every part of his chest and belly ached, and every ache only worsened each time his lungs thundered against them.

He was still stuck there when a familiar heavy glove settled on his back, just between his shoulders. “Reader, what in Talos' name are you doing?”

The coughs were finally weakening enough for Reads-With-Tail to breathe in between. “What,” he panted, “do you think?”

Ralof's grip tightened, squishing water out of the Argonian's shirt. “I'm not losing...” He trailed off into what Reads-With-Tail could only call a sob. The Argonian waited for his companion to collect itself, not wanting to say something that would make the situation even worse.

But Ralof just stood there, his hand kneading the boy's back, and Reads-With-Tail slowly uncurled and stood up. The hand fell away. “Where's Dorthe?” he asked.

“I told her to stay down where she was by the woods. She's not dressed for this any better than you are. And if we're up here too long I told her to go for help.” The warrior was trying to project authority, Reads-With-Tail could tell, but his wavering, exhausted voice did nothing of the sort. But he had said what the Argonian had hoped for.

“So you always meant to come back here after Hadvar.” The boy looked directly at his hero with sternness in his gaze, and Ralof ducked away.

“I...he's gone, Reader. Sovngarde has him now.”

“We don't know that,” the Argonian snarled. He turned away from the morose Stormcloak and started dragging his way up the last short trail to the snowstorm.

“Damn it, boy, use your head!” Reads-With-Tail didn't look back at him, so he only shouted louder. “You sprinted straight through twice and both times nearly killed you anyway. He's been up there half a day!”

_It never seemed to slow you two down before,_ the boy thought back, eyes determinedly on the swirling edge of the cloud just ahead. Then something else occurred to him. “Why did you send Dorthe for help if you didn't have any faith in Hadvar?” A fresh cough hammered through the middle of the sentence.

But Ralof understood him regardless. “I'm up here to keep you safe, boy.” He was shouting just to be heard, but Reads-With-Tail felt fairly certain he would have yelled up close too. “You're not going to survive another trip through that storm. You'll freeze solid before you get ten paces!”

The Argonian stopped moving, just as desperate now to change Ralof's mind as he was to help Hadvar. “Didn't you say earlier that the Stormcloaks came together to help their friends through? Well, that's just what I'm doing. And if you want to do it for me, you're going to follow me in and find Hadvar.”

The Stormcloak's voice dropped, remaining just loud enough for Reads-With-Tail to recognize that he was still speaking at all. “Damn it, Reader. Everything I've learned says to get you out of here now before I lose two...two friends.” He choked on the word, struggling to apply it to Hadvar, and the Argonian couldn't quite blame him. “But everything I am agrees with you.” He spoke up, projecting rather than yelling now. “All right, lad, there's no chance I'm lying to little Dorthe and leaving her favorite uncle out in the snow. Start your search and I'll be in after you in a few minutes. But first I'm going to get a fire going right about where you're standing now, and I want you to promise me something.”

“I'll come right back out if I'm flagging. Thank you, Ralof,” Reads-With-Tail said for more than just one reason, “I'd never have thought to do that for myself.”

“Well, of course. If we find him he'll need to defrost too, Nord blood or no.” Ralof's tone was a little lighter but his face was still drawn. But he was helping now, and that was all Reads-With-Tail could ask of him. At last, the young Argonian turned back to the trail and drove up the last of the slope to the fringe of the whirling snow. With a deep breath, he tossed aside his bulky pick, raised his shield as high as his weary arms could support, and plunged in.

 

Without the weight of his hammer to hold his belt still the wind tucked and drove under his clothes, but the boy found that curiously warming. Those tendrils of wind were frigid and laden with fresh snow, but they also kept the heavy linen away from his chest. He took several deep breaths of the winter air, letting his lungs stretch out freely for the first time since morning. It burned his throat and nose, but the relief to his abdomen was so much greater that he was willing to accept it.

As always, he barreled up the hill as fast as his throbbing legs could carry him, gyrating with each step to manage his crooked tail. He hadn't given his plan much conscious thought, it simply felt natural to him. _I took that heavy fall when I ran downhill earlier, maybe Hadvar did something similar. If I can tell how he came into the storm I can follow his steps and see if there's something he might have fallen over. And since the snow up at the base of the barrow is so still, his bootprints are probably still there._ Of course, those boots had held fast on ice that had sent him down on his snout during the brawl, making it hard for the boy to believe Hadvar could have just fallen the same way he had. _He's got to be better at this sort of thing than I am. Better trained, better equipped, more experienced, just generally the right sort of person to manage it. After all, Ralof never had a problem with it, and it sounds like they've done this before back when they were my size too._

But he couldn't deny Dorthe's statement either – Hadvar simply hadn't made it back down the hill. And if he'd been distracted by whatever it was Ralof felt so guilty for saying, then maybe it was possible for him to have fallen after all. Either way, he'd have a chance to investigate once he reached the top of the hill. The snow was blinding, though; he had no idea how long he'd been running or how close he was to the top.

Indeed, he couldn't even tell if he _was_ still running. The storm tossed his clothes around effortlessly and piled snow at his feet, making his every step laborious. No, he wasn't running anymore, just trudging forward and kicking the snow out of the way. His injury from the dart burned with particular intensity, aggravated by some lump of ice that had broken off in the hole, or perhaps simply formed inside it. Somehow, though, he was able to keep himself moving – not quickly, not as quickly as Hadvar needed him to, not as quickly as a good Nord could have, but he _was_ moving, he _was_ trying, _and I'm not going to go running back to hide around the fire until I'm done!_

Reads-With-Tail's throat was ragged beneath a coat of ice, his breathing irregular and desperate as he choked down the snow that filled the air. His feet and eyelids grew heavier every moment until he could only see the whirling snow between his face and the path. He teetered forward now, rather than walking, finally realizing that this storm spanned a greater distance than the trail up from the watchtower. And at this speed and with so many obstacles he had no idea how close he was to the great barrow.

_Unless..._ No, there it was! The snow was thinning at last, the clumps that forced themselves into his mouth far smaller and easier to melt, and between the myriad flakes and swirls of cloud he could make out the long low form of the barrow's fortress. The sight gave him one last surge of strength, strength enough to drag his numb legs through the last piles of snow between him and still air.

Reads-With-Tail toppled forward the moment the wind stopped supporting him, barely breaking his fall with his shield before his snout hit the stone. Crisp snow crunched under the impact, melting at last into red-hot rivers along his exposed hands and feet. He just let himself lie there for a time, gasping frantically until his breathing finally reached an even pace again. The air was still frigid, the sky at its darkest without more than a handful of stars to light the snow far beneath. The young Argonian knew that he couldn't stay in one place for long without falling asleep, and that if he fell asleep now he wouldn't wake, so at last he levered himself up on his shield and staggered uneasily back to his feet. His left foot in particular was absolutely numb for whatever reason, and both calves were only slightly better, but the tired boy made himself find his balance anyway.

With bleary eyes he studied the ground around him, looking for... _what was I looking for? Hadvar, Master Hadvar's...something-or-other, wasn't it?_ There were several tracks punched into the snow around him, a few wide and fan-shaped and the others relatively oblong. _That's right, footprints. I think. Do I?_ Reads-With-Tail felt his spirits rising for some unfathomable reason, then finally his muscles told him of the lopsided grin he'd pulled out of nowhere. Why the grin would make him feel better he had no idea. Perhaps he simply had the order backwards. _No, silly lizard, focus on Master Hadvar. He's what's important now!_ At least he'd stopped shivering, which made it easier to keep his deadened limbs coordinated. _Though I think I've read that that's a bad thing._

“Let's see,” he said loud in the hopes that it might be a little more coherent, “who has the bigger feet, Ralof or Hadvar?” He twitched his shield arm, the closest he could manage to smacking his forehead. _What a wonderful plan this was._

But then he stopped himself. “I know the tracks are all up here. They're not going anywhere. I can just follow one set at a time until I find the ones that show me where Hadvar fell!” He felt his face trying to smile more fully, but by now there was little his muscles could do for him. So instead he lined himself up in one of the bootprint trails, pushed deep into the snow with his feet both to check them off and gain a little purchase, and kicked off into the squall directly along that line.

The wind seemed much lighter this time, but the sudden ice along Reads-With-Tail's spine told the true story. It was simply pushing him downhill like it always had, and now that meant it was driving his shirt up against his lower back while little tendrils hooked around to force snow into his mouth and eyes. _No wonder Hadvar fell in this – I'm even more amazed now that_ Ralof _never did!_ Perhaps it was because he had no energy left to sap, but even with his icy shirt clinging to him he felt revitalized yet again. Not by much, but hopefully it would be enough to carry him back down the slope.

Two narrow escapes in a row gave him some slight reassurance. Both times he'd taken a staggering step as usual and then had to throw his whole body backwards to avoid going into another downhill roll as he landed on a shallow ice slick. _Just like this morning. Or was it afternoon?_ Regardless, he was definitely in the right place to find where Hadvar had lost his way. And hopefully – _Arkay, Akatosh,_ Talos _, please! –_ a living Nord waited just ahead.

“Dastard! Reader!” Ralof's shout punched through the madly dancing wind to reach the boy. It did so quite literally, in fact; the wall of sound quieted the air and blasted the eddying snow almost back to the peak. _In a minute,_ Reads-With-Tail wanted to reply, but _he_ wasn't blessed by Kynareth with a voice that could rout armies. The Nord would never hear him unless he shouted another clearing into the snow, and from what the boy had read those sacred gifts could only be used sparingly. There were Nords who had trained their voices far beyond that, of course, everyone knew of the Greybeard monks, but that wouldn't help a frozen young Argonian trapped on a mountainside.

Which left him utterly shocked when another wall of sound hammered the snow away from him. “Aye, Reader, come back!” The shout itself had stunned him, but infinitely more surprising was the voice behind it.

“Hadvar?” Reads-With-Tail croaked. _But how? How did you get behind me? It doesn't matter. Oh, thank you all!_

The twin shouts had blasted away nearly all the snow that had covered the Argonian's feet, leaving only a few stubborn pockets of powder between what proved to be a cobblestone road. The storm was already reburying it, but curiosity and relief drove him in equal measure to make one last charge for the bend and safety. The air was still clear, perhaps for the first time in the mountain's history, clear enough at least for Reads-With-Tail to see where he was going and steer himself along the shortest path to warmer air.

But the sound hadn't cleared the entire slope, and even with his most recent second wind he could barely lift his feet off the stones. His resurgent momentum bled away quickly, leaving him once again trapped in the blizzard with no sign of where his escape had gone. And the sprint had exhausted his already cramped lungs once again, leaving him staggering and coughing and not moving at all as he finally doubled over, energy wholly spent.

The frozen young Argonian had no sense of how long he'd stood there, folded over himself as the snow poured in on him anew, before something warm and gentle surged out of the blindness to lift him effortlessly off his feet. In moments the air stilled; the ice that encrusted his exposed scales sluggishly cracked and flowed away from heaven-sent warmth. Dully he felt the hot air curl around his body directly as his shirt and pants cracked, folded, and fell away at last. Whoever held him set him down gently next to the blessed heat, nestled into something soft and dry.

At last Reads-With-Tail opened his eyes again, not even halfway believing that he was truly out of the storm and not just on whatever fringe of Sovngarde was reserved for aliens to Skyrim. And what he saw did little to change his mind. Hadvar's face loomed over him, stress and concern and dancing firelight carving canyons into his features. _Maybe he heard about what happened to me and came to visit?_

“Here, drink this,” the Nord said in a fearful rush. His hand shook as he held out a short iron tankard. Reads-With-Tail tried to take it but had no strength left in his arms. Hadvar must have realized it, because he reached for the boy's head with his free arm and brought the tankard up close.

Another pair of arms came up behind the Argonian, propping him up along his back as well as at his neck, and he leaned forward slightly to slurp at the top of the liquid. _Tastes like apple, I think._ Whatever it was, it was hot and just a little thick. He swallowed heavily, forcing it slowly down his clogged throat and wincing as it warmed his frozen core from within. But his breathing came a little easier after just the first sip, easy enough now for him to lean back against the three hands and close his eyes again.

But for whatever reason he wasn't ready to sleep, not even when they lowered him slowly back into the bedroll someone had brought up for him. His rescuers seemed to think he was done, though, because after Hadvar set the hot tankard down in the crook of his shoulder they wasted no time launching into an argument.

“Look at what you did to him,” Ralof hissed. _If he's here I suppose I'm alive after all._ “He went back for you! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I needed more time to cool off, so I took the back trail down to the riverbed.” Hadvar's voice was low and thick, trying to at once project his concern for the Argonian and his complete disregard for anything Ralof had to say.

“Back trail?” the Stormcloak squawked. “What back trail? I saw you head down through the snowstorm, you couldn't have taken anything downhill from the far side of the barrow.”

Reads-With-Tail could practically hear Hadvar roll his eyes. “No, I mean behind the watchtower. There's a little slope there that comes out a short walk upstream of the mill. Did you seriously never see that in any of the times you came charging up here with something to prove?”

“I...” Ralof swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. “You damn fool, you made us think you were still stuck in the storm! We came back up here to save you. Isn't that at least worth something to you?”

“Aye, and so did I when you weren't home by nightfall,” Hadvar answered evenly. “I knew you'd be able to stand out on your own for a while, and that Reader could probably handle it just as well as you could, but once it got close to sunset I couldn't leave you out alone.”

That pushed Ralof over the edge. “How? How can you always do this, Hadvar? Every time I do something I can almost be...” He broke off, breathing sharply but slowly. “The moment I don't need you to help tell the dragon story, you'd best start running. Run all the way home to your castle in Solitude and pray to whatever gods you're still brave enough to worship that I still have better things to do than hunt you down for what you did today.”

“Strong words, Ralof. We'll see what you remember of them by morning.” And with that the Argonian felt them move away from his bedroll, and despite all the questions that had just been raised he no longer had anything left to give chasing answers. His eyes rolled up, his lids closed over them, and he sank down into the hot darkness at last.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Blinding, pounding, spiraling white poured into the dark under Reads-With-Tail's eyelids. Far, far above hung the deep midnight sky, steady and clear, if only he could get to it. But the wind of the Bleak Falls trail hummed and whistled inside his ears, driving the blizzard ever higher, filling his eyes and his lungs and his mind. The Argonian's swimming instincts jerked down hard on his lungs, succeeding only in choking him on his own throat as well as the frozen dampness. Why wasn't the pure air _closer_?

Frantically, he kicked off from the mercifully solid ground, his mighty swimmer's leap that had once carried him all the way up from the bottom of Windhelm's bay. It felt much the same now, only he'd never had such a frantic need to _breathe_ in the arctic seawater. But besides that, he felt just as floaty, just as dazed, and just as leaden all the way through to his spine. All he could do was try to breach the surface in time, but he might as well have been shackled by the ice below.

Someone was calling in his ear now, a chirp brighter than a mountainside morning, but Reads-With-Tail's eyes were already exploding with snowflakes and the new light was too much to take. He came down from his swimming kick and stumbled, tucking and rolling to keep the weight off of his ankle, which had suddenly remembered the bad twist he'd given it the first climb. His careful shoulder roll seemed to drift on for minutes, sluggish through the watery air. And then, in an instant he fell into such a ridiculous and rapid tumble that he would have laughed if there was any breath left in him.

The voice still followed after him, whatever it was saying. The wind trapped it inside his skull, and he could feel it trying to slip back out. His flesh and scales were already taut as a drumhead, turning his face into a twisted funeral mask that the sound could not escape no matter how hard it prodded behind his eyes. Desperately he kept rolling, hoping somehow to escape the sound. But the world wouldn't allow it. First his shoulder hit a rock, then his bottom rib, and he felt his entire body lift into the air, or perhaps the ground fell away beneath him instead. For just an instant, the blizzard subsided, something warm, dark, and blurry filling his vision instead as the air underneath suddenly turned thin.

And then the little Argonian wasn't cold at all anymore.

He started to yelp but ended up with a wheezing cough as his body belatedly reacted to the world around him instead of the world within. Independent of his labored breathing, his legs sprang hard against a real surface this time, launching him back across the low stack of slate shards he'd sleep-rolled across. He felt the slime trail of ash rolling off scales that he just _knew_ were going to itch like fury once he finally had time to take it all in. Thank Talos that was all he felt, though – rolling into a _fireplace_ ought to have left a much more lasting impression!

The voice was much clearer now that the snowstorm was out from behind his eyes. “Reader! I – uh – wow, that was an awesome jump there! Did you do that when you saved Uncle Hadvar from the spider? Or the blizzard? Did you? Oh, oh, did you sleep okay too?”

Dorthe's rapid twittering lanced through Reads-With-Tail's ears into the top of his brain. His vision was clearing, but there was clearly a large part of him that wanted to stay buried under a comfortably quiet snowdrift a little longer. At least the throbbing under his temples was slowly reminding his mouth and throat how to function. He took in a deep breath to lock it in, savoring the cool dry air like a sunny day in Windhelm, letting it shovel away the last of his bad memories. The fact that he found himself coughing up most of that air was secondary to the relief it gave him.

He knew his smile was thin – at least, the part of it he could control; for all he knew at this point he was grinning like Kennet at a street show and just wasn't awake enough to feel it – but he couldn't help it now. The perfect reply was already rolling off his tongue. “Don't worry. I slept like a log, and –”

“– And woke up in the fireplace!” Dorthe's skirt fluttered as she bounced in place, clapping her hands and chortling. Reader huffed, a little more soot puffing out of his mouth and nostrils. _I didn't exactly work hard on that one, but I was proud of it!_ “That's one of papa's favorite jokes, especially when I catch him napping by the forge! By the way, Mister Ralof showed me your hammer. Papa was so thrilled that you were a blacksmith too! He's really – ”

“Wait, I'm a what?” Reads-With-Tail blinked, pushing aside his annoyance at having his punchline stolen.

“A blacksmith!” Dorthe repeated. “You know, with your tool hammer and mining pick? Ooh, Uncle Hadvar said you used that to fight the spider, that must have been so amazing to watch! Just like the heroes Frodnar and I play, except you actually did it. I wish I'd been there.”

The Argonian was beginning to feel genuinely dizzy trying to keep up with her. “Miss Dorthe, stop, slow down!” He padded the air with his palms for room, then sneezed on the backs of his hands. His snout twitched as he blinked the snow flurries out of his eyelids again, an image that made him shiver madly before he could refocus on his friend's face.

Without warning, her arms were around his waist, as far as they would reach – he was no giant himself, but he still had to be half again the girl's age. But Dorthe had a tight hold of his whole body, gripping him by the knot on the heavy robe he'd only just realized he'd been dressed in. His lungs seized again, but on account of a new and far more dangerous threat.

She had him tight, but she still barely came up to his collar. Reads-With-Tail's longer legs gave him plenty of distance as he hurled himself backwards, breaking through her grip only to catch his heel on the hearthstones again. “I swear I didn't mean it!” they said in unison, his voice far more shrill and panicked than hers.

Dorthe grabbed for him again, this time confining herself to grabbing his hands. Her grip was ginger but she had timed it perfectly, slipping her own hands into the double windmill of his arms and dragging his right wrist to a halt, anchoring him just enough to keep his tail out of the fire. His horns rubbed against the wall, gathering even more soot, but at least he'd avoided any further injury.

He just wished that could still be the case if Hadvar and the rest of the village found out what he had done.

Somehow Dorthe loomed over him now, despite being a head and a half shorter and clearly not trying to do anything of the sort. She cocked her head, her smile coming halfway back, though he could see her chest still fluttered after the surprise. “You don't have to be sorry about anything, Reader! The robe's a bit singed and still a little hot too, but there's no harm done. I'm sorry if I grabbed you without asking – I wanted to make sure you weren't still cold.”

Dorthe's laugh put a little reason back in Reads-With-Tail's mind. “You,” he had to swallow a few times, and he could almost convince himself it was because of all the soot he'd been breathing. “Nothing.” Each word ripped at the mucous that filled his throat. “You did nothing wrong.” He looked up, halfheartedly shaking his wrists free. But it took him a moment to see her expression. His eyes were full once more, full of memories of weighted sacks at the bottom of the steel bay.

Dorthe let go of his left wrist but kept an easy grip on his right. Her head was quirked to the side, like it usually seemed to be, but for the first time he'd noticed since meeting the girl she wasn't wearing a smile. Her raised eyebrows let him know perfectly plainly that she wasn't convinced, and he didn't know if he was more frightened that she might blame herself for his outburst – after all, he was the one who'd made her grab hold, made her even want to – or that she might figure out what had him so worried.

Suddenly the door rattled open, dense pine slats clacking against the frame and dragging down the hinges. Reads-With-Tail shielded his eyes instinctively, but some eave or awning kept the light out. He couldn't make out the rest of the town beyond through the sharp white daylight, but all he had to do was not stare directly out into the street just yet.

Besides, he had better things to look at. The lady who'd just come in wore well-kept clothes, a white linen undergarment beneath a faded sun-yellow gown, that were a natural fit for her weatherworn face. The Argonian thought it was quite a distinguished effect, much like how Miss Berit always presented herself – in fact, this lady had fewer lines and a much taller posture than his Dunmer friend.

“You're awake! Oh, Dorthe, why didn't you come let us know?” Now it was Reads-With-Tail's turn to quirk his head and squint. That accent was the strangest thing he'd heard, somewhere between the south end of Skyrim and the north of Cyrodiil. Was Dorthe's mother an Imperial? No, she couldn't be, she was too tall.

He was still mulling it over when Dorthe answered. “He, er, he was a little wavery. I hoped you would be able to hear us through the door, but...”

Her mother nodded. “Fair enough. How're you feeling, Reader?”

He coughed a little, trying to clear his throat so he could answer. Then he hesitated a little more, trying to decide what he most needed to mention. But his stomach raced ahead of his voice, doing a little leap into his ribcage and snarling loud enough to make Dorthe clamp down harder on his wrist. Instead of words, he just gave a little giggle.

“Fair enough,” Dorthe's mother repeated. “Just got through talking to your father about what he'd like for lunch, but I think we'll need a little more variety. And a lot more quantity if we've got a sabercat joining us.” She smirked at Reads-With-Tail.

“I'm,” he still had to swallow every few syllables, but it already hurt a lot less. “I'm also really dry,” he said apologetically. It was true, his scales itched like fury and his eyes felt ready to tug out of his skull, but this family had already spent who knew how many days caring for him, not to mention all the times Hadvar had saved his life before that! But as guilty as he felt about it, he still needed to ask for a few more favors. “Do you have something hot, like tea or cider?”

“You aren't still cold, are you, Reader? I thought you were...oh, wait, it's about the throat, isn't it? You don't feel cold, you feel like you _have_ a cold!” Dorthe was clearly proud of herself for working that out.

Her mother, meanwhile, was pursing her lips. “Nothing ready, I'm afraid. We didn't know when you'd be awake, and my husband tends to prefer cold drinks and hot food to the other way around. We'd have to go draw and boil some water from the river out back.”

Reads-With-Tail bounced on tiptoe, his webbed feet splaying out with each hop, the injuries he'd accumulated around Bleak Falls Barrow not slowing him down at all. “I'll get it! Is there a bucket around here?” _I won't feel nearly so awful for demanding a treat like this if I get at least some of it myself._

“If you're sure, river's just out back, pails are on the porch.” Dorthe's mother fixed him with a level stare, simultaneously conveying compassion, annoyance, and understanding. “If it's too heavy – not saying it will be, but you've been out for two days and the night – let someone outside know.” “Alvor will be right outside, around the corner to your right. Don't want to hear the forge breathing all day, and we _certainly_ don't want the flames getting free, so the walls are double-thick and kept damp as we can.” She transferred the look to her daughter, who shrugged.

“Wait – two days?” Reads-With-Tail squawked. “What – how – I wasn't –” He'd expected the news, but expecting it and hearing it were two entirely different things.

“So I know you're hungry. Now go on, the fresh air and exercise will do you good! I'll have something ready to snack on when you come back, and we can work out an actual meal for a few marks from now.” Both women were leading him towards the door now, Dorthe still by the wrist and her mother with a push on his shoulders.

 _Can't argue with that_.

 

Riverwood was bright and warm in the late morning sun, a little leftover haze hanging over the woodlands that ringed it, holding in more than enough water to make the young Argonian's day. The glorious humidity was already easing a little life back into his scales, and he could hear the clatter and splatter of a riverwheel somewhere close behind him. The road was nothing more than a well-trodden strip of dust between two rows of buildings, but the high sun lit it up like the snow atop High Hrothgar...which he slowly realized was actually the mountain just off to his left, just viewed from an angle he'd never thought about before.

He returned his attention to the town. Looking at it it might not even be two proper rows; Dorthe's house stood alone while three others faced it. From the signs, there was an inn – the Sleeping Giant – to the left, a sundries shop directly across, and someone else's house a little further down on the right, before the whole town ended with a stubby earth rampart. An elderly lady in a cloth cap rocked on her porch in the sun, eyes on nothing in particular. So wherever the sound of sewing needles was coming from, it wasn't her.

In fact, it sounded remarkably close by, and was punctuated by occasional low mutters. It was hard to make out the tone – Dorthe's mother was right, their house truly did absorb sound, even just from around a corner – but it didn't sound annoyed or frustrated like Miss Berit usually did. _Almost more...meditative?_ With a deep breath, and the inevitable cough that followed it, Reads-With-Tail leaned over the bulky water pails, past a sales rack well-stocked with sledges and lumber axes, to peer out at the source of the voice.

Alvor was a big man, but he didn't look it. Some of his bulk was in his leaded apron, which swung a little around his sides, but most of it ran down his neck to his shoulders. He wasn't much taller than Reads-With-Tail himself, which was sinful by Nord standards, but he more than made up for it in breadth. He was focused hard on his workbench, arms visibly twitching as his fingers darted around. The sudden din from the sawmill out past him didn't even seem to reach his ears. The Argonian stood at respectful attention..

Until his stomach growled.

"Ah, you must be Reader! My nephew's told me such stories already, and he's not known you a week!" Alvor's voice matched him perfectly, proud and firm but also surprisingly small, and coated with an aggressively Nordic accent. "I've been dying to see you - just wish you'd stayed in bed another twenty minutes - got a few things I'd like to ask you, few I'd like to show you too." _Well, no question which parent Dorthe gets it from._ "But first - my nephew left these here for you," the smith whisked two very familiar tools off the workbench as he turned, his black apron twirling more than enough to block Reads-With-Tail's view of anything else. "And I have to ask, that hammer, it's not just for pounding nails, is it? Are my daughter and I lucky to meet another blacksmith, even just an amateur?"

The Argonian shuffled guiltily, worming his claws through the moss on the deck timbers. It was a charming feeling, cool and damp on his chafed scales. "I'm sorry, sir," he answered after considering the wood beams for a good long minute. "Not even an amateur, nowhere close. I've read books back in Windhelm, but..." Alvor's look confirmed what he'd figured out over the last couple of years - knowing what old masters had written was all well and good, but "hold your hammer such that..." or "incorporate no more than two tablespoons..." or "wait for it to turn the particular shade of blue..." meant less than nothing without a real hammer in his hand and some real metal melting and spraying all over him as he bungled his first few tries. _I suppose that's what the apron is there to help with..._

Alvor jerked his head. "Well, anything stand out that you can remember?" The head-toss was impatient, frustrated, but eagerness was stamped across his face. _He_ really _wishes I was on his level, doesn't he? That should probably be sweet, but I'm just terrified. I read that last one months ago!_ "Er...there was plenty on how so-and-so held their hammer..." The Argonian held out a hand for the tool in question. His long nap had made the heft so unfamiliar, but he hoisted it over his left shoulder, cocking his arm at what he imagined was about a right angle, bracing an imaginary blade with his right hand.  
Alvor frowned, reaching out to tweak bits of the boy's stance one element at a time. He particularly dwelled on Reads-With-Tail's hammer wrist, forcing it onto an axis that seemed entirely alien to the boy. With a final jostle to his shoulders, forcing him into a forward-leaning stance that left his tail stabbing the air in a panic, Alvor stepped back to admire his handiwork. "Could be better, needs something real. Here, toss me the robe – keep it clear of the furnace there!” The Argonian shrugged the thick beige nightrobe off his shoulders, but hesitated to unlace the belt – it was so loose and heavy he wouldn't even need to get it half-off before the entire thing would go floating away!

“Don't worry, Reader, we left you your dignity. I just need to be sure you're not going to rip something, either it or you.” Alvor was right, and stunningly whoever the loose, heavy pants had belonged to was almost the boy's size too – a little loose and a little short, which was honestly perfect for him, giving his itchy scales room to breathe but closing tightly a handspan above his ankles. Something about that stroke of fortune made him unreasonably happy.

Alvor seemed quite satisfied too, grinning eagerly as his erstwhile pupil limbered up. “Try striking now - remember you're holding the, er, 'metal' still. Just like your shield on the mountain. it doesn't move out of line, you move your line around it."

Reads-With-Tail twisted, hammer snapping down, yanking his whole arm after it. As his arm went, so did his tail, and as his tail so went his entire body. He pushed his chest up off the deck, otherwise staying on the ground until he was invited back upright. "Yeah, definitely need something real to work with there," Alvor mumbled. "Let's try...oh, come on, Reader, Dorthe's sure you're not broken anymore, you can stand!" The Argonian struggled to his feet sheepishly. "That's better. Remember anything a bit less, ah, physical?"  
Reads-With-Tail nodded energetically to clear the spots from behind his eyes. _Oh. Oh no, I just committed myself, didn't I?_ "Well, there's...there's..." _I don't remember the numbers!_ "I'm sorry, sir, I don't know exactly. But it was for working with silver and moonstone...something about two teaspoons evaporated sea salt dissolved in, er, was it three parts still-water to five parts well-water?" He looked up at Alvor, desperate for approval.  
"Moonst...pah, let me guess, you got this book off some elf cray enough to stay in Windhelm?"  
"Yes, sir," Reads-With-Tail answered right away. "Miss Berit's a Dunmer."  
Something dimmed in Alvor's hot brown eyes. _Did his breath just catch? Does he know Miss Berit?_ "Well, that's all well and good for mer-folk. You and I, all we need are good sturdy iron and steel, eh? Can you tell me the difference, how you get each type? Just pick one of each, I know there are a lot of irons and steels in the world."  
Reads-With-Tail couldn't. As hard as he tried, he couldn't. Everything he'd read had either assumed the reader already knew and just glossed over those less glamorous metals or else worn him down with drills and details he had no context for, long before any of the knowledge could nestle in. All he could do was shake his head and mumble "no" in a voice so small it might not have left his lips.

Alvor looked as heartbroken as the Argonian felt. He hissed in one deep breath. A second, a third. "Right. Lesson after breakfast. Don't care if you don't want to, you've got the hammer and you're traveling and I will be damned if I let a friend wander this disaster of a country without knowing basic metalwork!" He looked away for a moment, breath steadying. "And...Reader?" His voice had changed, so much quieter now. More personal. "I heard that." Reads-With-Tail quirked his head. "'Dunmer.' It's not a word that many Argonians bother to remember."  
_Right,_ Reads-With-Tail thought glumly, reminded of a fact he was glad Miss Berit let him forget. _The war. My people were horrible to the Dunmer, weren't we? That's a good reason even Captain Free-Winter gives to keep us outside the city proper._ Then, "Wait, you've met other Argonians?"  
"Of course, Reader!" Alvor's voice had strength again. "Riverwood's a six-family village and most of my business is keeping the mill running, but we're on the roads to Cyrodiil and Daggerfall here and sometimes people need something touched up. New shoes for them or their horse, a knife that can hold an edge, you know the thing. Not many of your people come up here to freeze - a few mercenaries, a couple merchants, even a sightseer every now and again. So yeah, I've met Argonians. Would like to keep meeting more, especially if they've got coin and something needs mending."

"I had no idea," Reads-With-Tail started to apologize, but Alvor was rolling now.  
"Something about the stories Ralof and Hadvar told me, and the way you looked when we'd toweled you off, it stood out to me because of that. Let me guess, you're in that mix-and-match outfit and proud of it, because what more can be done for you? You're just a lizard, and even if you weren't in human lands you'd probably just run around in your scales because there's no way something could possibly fit you. Shirt and pants a decade too big for you, and I'm not even going to insult the noble craft by calling those 'wrapping boots,' and there you go running through snowdrifts and pretending to enjoy it! I'm about right, eh?"  
The Argonian hesitated, then nodded. "I really do like the snow though," he said, blinking hard and chewing his tongue until the blizzard under his eyelids drifted away and the simmering forge could reach him again.  
"Well then, let me tell you this." Alvor was actually wagging his finger in Reads-With-Tail's face! "No matter how many books they've read or how many probably legendary swords they've made, I can _guarantee_ you I know something no blacksmith in Ulfric's hellhole ever will."  
"Hey, that's my home!" The Argonian was indignant, even if the description could be accurate at certain parts of the year. _All right, at every part of the year._  
"Yes, yes, anyway. Here, Reader, step forward. I want you to take a good close look at this, and promise me you won't go into another coma when you realize what you're seeing." Alvor pivoted away from the workbench entirely, slipping into the gap between it and his furnace and revealing what he'd first been fiddling with.  
_I'm not sure I can keep that promise._ Reads-With-Tail's eyes were wide; his tongue flicked out. But guilt was already welling up in the bottom of his mind and rising fast.  
Pride cracked Alvor's voice. "I, er, had plenty of time to take your measurements. You were dead for two days, except when we sponged water down your throat. Ralof's idea. Good man, even if he is an idiot with his politics." He cleared his throat, dragging himself back to the moment. "Like them?"

Alvor's gift looked at first glance like a pair of sandals, which Miss Berit had once considered for her Argonian friend before discarding as too fragile in Windhelm's sodden snow. But the sandals were just the surface, and a thin surface at that. Tall walls of toughened leather formed a stiff well for his ankles, with shorter but more finely sculpted walls shaping a space for the rest of his foot – there was even room left over at the tips for him to flex his webs! And upon closer inspection there were two rows of fastenings, soft cords inside and fat leather strips outside, the leather well masked by two lazily drooping flaps. Reads-With-Tail could already picture how the whole surface came together, the cords knotting in the middle to hold it all closed, the flaps crossing to seal out snow, and the strips to keep them in line. And the entire thing was propped up on a thick sole, a good fingersbreadth at the toe tapering back to a handspan for the heel. There was only a little metalwork poking out of sheathes along the anklebrace. No foreplate, no steel toe, no elaborate engraving of a bear or tundra cat like some Stormcloaks and sea captains wore. It wasn't finery, it was traveler's wear.

And it was the most beautiful thing in the young Argonian's life.  _Well, second-most after Miss Berit's library, but let's not spoil the moment._ But he didn't know how to answer Alvor's question. He slowly peeled his gaze off the ingenious pair of boots and returned it to the smith's eager face. Alvor's expression was childlike, at once incongruous and entirely fitting for his short coarse beard. There was pride, naturally, and Reads-With-Tail couldn't blame him –  _ who ever could have thought up a design like that for legs like these? _ – but it was mixed with a puppy's eagerness and anxiety.  _ He's afraid it won't be...that  _ I _ won't like it. How could he be afraid? It's... _ He couldn't put words together; an emotional squall shredded his overstretched mental sails.

“I need to water,” he squeaked out. His tail hooked under the nearest bucket handle and hoisted without him even needing to look. But in the time it took him to lift it, Alvor had crossed the long porch and laid a hand on the Argonian's shoulder.

“Fine, fine. Let's go together, all right?” Reads-With-Tail felt his host trying to make eye contact, felt it burning through his forehead nubs. “You can tell me what you want and leave out what you have to. Besides,” the boy didn't need to look up at him to see the grin, “I can't blame you for not thinking clearly when your throat's parched. I'm glad I got as much of a conversation as I did!”

 

It hadn't dawned on Reads-With-Tail just how  _ close _ the river was. He'd seen the sawmill, but the waterwheel that ran it had been tucked out of sight, and so he'd assumed it was masked behind the log pyramid that a couple of fair-haired Nord men were sorting through. But then Alvor had led him out around the corner of the porch, and suddenly there it was.  _ No wonder they keep the walls thick and damp – it must be hard  _ not _ to! _ He didn't envy anyone trying to sleep without such precautions, not when the rattletrap wooden wheel was maybe half again his armspan from the house!

The river itself was impressively deep despite visibly only being a side channel around the rise the sawmill had been built on. The constant splash and drizzle from the wheel thrashed it too enthusiastically for him to judge color up close, but all he had to do was crane his neck a little to see flat and placid waters in both directions, sun shining like diamond off the backs of every little ripple.

Alvor wasn't content with the muddy churning wheelwater though, crossing a bright yellow pine bridge past the mill. Reads-With-Tail followed, but a little more creatively. The moment he stepped off the path his feet squelched into the mud; his webs splayed out to keep him balanced but he passed the bucket off to his hand so he could use his tail properly too. Impulse took him and he jumped across the narrow channel, plunging into the rich swampy soil on the other bank, toes digging in barely a fingersbreadth from the mill's foundation.  _ Just as planned.  _ He worked the mud as energetically as his stiff joints would allow, spine relaxing tremendously at the feeling of cool water soaking his scales. It would take a good long drink to get that water  _ into _ his scales, but he'd take all the relief he could get.

“You're washing that off first, right?” Alvor said once his guest finally made it around the mill behind him. Reads-With-Tail felt a little self-consciousness well up, but it was a faint thing against the raw pleasure of finding such a luscious riverbank that wasn't made of either rock or ice.  _ Still, he's right, I'd better not track any of this back inside! _

The river was behind a few tall bushes – the  _ real _ river now, not the mill channel. It was shallow here, shallow enough he could probably ford it at any point –  _ though maybe not, if they need that stout a bridge _ , he thought as he looked at the wide stone arch at the far end of the village – and certainly placid enough to let him get away with it. If he didn't need to bring the bucket back soon he could have spent hours just indulging himself.

Well, and if he didn't need to make things right with Alvor.

His brief frolic at the riverside had helped settle his nerves. He was an observer to his own feelings now, able to put them to words without being seized by them – or rather, he was always in their grip, but explaining them to Alvor wasn't about to give them any greater power. “I'm sorry,” he said after a moment, setting the bucket down and sitting in the drier sand, worming his toes through the silt at the water's edge.

His host had already found a tree stump to rest on. “What for?” He kept his tone light. It wasn't a rhetorical question, and it wasn't a rebuke. That made things even easier.

“For storming off just now.” He took a deep breath, held it longer than he should have, coughed it up.  _ No, you're stalling. Stop gasping and speak _ . “Your boots were amazing, really. And I trust you when you say they'll fit.” He forced himself to look Alvor in the eye and smile. He knew he wasn't being insincere, that it wasn't empty flattery,  _ but that's not what hurts, is it, Reader?  _ “I just...why?” Reads-With-Tail ducked his head away, but kept his eyes up, knowing he looked like he was begging and hating it.  _ That's the opposite of what I'm trying to do. _

Alvor stared him down. There was no condemnation on his face, no anger, which only compounded the boy's guilt. “Why not?”

Reads-With-Tail flinched away from the simple reversal. He folded forward, dipping his head close to the river and ladling out a double handful of water. The dull burn across his eyeballs faded a little, a great relief for something he'd hardly paid attention to since waking up.  _ Alvor was right, it is easier to think when my throat's not so dry. And I'm stalling again. _ He couldn't figure out why it was so hard to voice his doubts now, after all the ways his gentle host had made it easier for him.

Finally he decided to plunge in with both feet; the more he thought it through first the less likely he was to say anything at all. “Because I'm just an Argonian dockworker from Windhelm. Just an  _ Argonian _ dockworker.”

“And also the young man who saved my nephew and my best friend's brother.”

There wasn't the slightest surprise in Alvor's voice, and this time that genuinely did make it easier for Reads-With-Tail to continue. “They saved me so many more times. I even  _ made _ Hadvar need to go back and save me again, remember?”

“Doesn't matter,” the smith snorted and shook his head. “You left an impression on three of Riverwood's children anyway, what with your willingness to put yourself at risk for people you'd met the same night. And I'm always inclined to be generous towards anyone Hadvar or Dorthe vouch for, no heroics necessary. Let alone someone they both like!” He'd carried a small smile while speaking, but it fell away as he thought through his next line. “And since it seems to important to you...why would a 'just an Argonian' put himself through so much when a 'proper Windhelm Nord' couldn't manage it?” At last there was anger seeping in, but Reads-With-Tail wasn't sure what had prompted it.

All he could do was answer. “Because Ralof and Hadvar are capable of so much more than I ever will be.” The boy flinched away again, not brave enough to watch Alvor's reaction.

But he heard it. “Ah. So you wouldn't have done the same for my Dorthe or Sigrid, then? They're not warriors, not great smiths or poets or jarls – well, Dorthe's not a smith  _ yet _ at least – just a woman and a girl in a little gap in the woods.”

“That's not it! That's not right at all!” Reads-With-Tail blurted out, realizing while he spoke that Alvor hadn't had nearly the sort of malice his words suggested.  _ It's an accusation all the same _ . “I'm sure they, and you, and anyone else here could do anything if you wanted to learn it badly enough! All I'm ever going to be, supposed to be –  _ wanted _ to be – is a servant to the real children of Skyrim.” He sighed and swallowed hard, trying to break down the lump of unfamiliar emotions that had clogged his throat. “So I always ought to serve as best I can.”

Alvor's level stare had come back, devoid of either praise or scorn. “And so you don't deserve a reward for services rendered, then? How about pay, they pay you at those docks, I'm sure.”  _ You don't  _ sound _ sure. _ The irony dripping from that statement drilled a pipe of humor through the mess of pride and guilt in Reads-With-Tail's throat.

“But I  _ didn't _ pay for those boots or anything. I haven't done anything to help around the town yet, just been given care and food and – and all the things you've promised! And I  _ wasn't _ paid, didn't ask for pay, for helping Hadvar and Ralof – and even if I had, they needed to rescue me so many times it would've been forfeit anyway, right?”

For some reason, that was what got under Alvor's guard. “Ah. Perhaps. But you're not going to take yes for an answer today on the boots or anything else, are you?” The young Argonian shook his head. “Fine, all a man can do is try. Well, since you mentioned not doing anything for 'the village,' as if saving Ralof and Hadvar didn't count –” Reads-With-Tail shot him a half-serious glare for looping right back around to that argument “– there actually  _ is _ an errand I've been putting off for the last few days. I've no problem running it myself, but it's directly relevant to that lesson I promised you, and I could toss in the boots as a bonus, all right?”

That felt a bit better in Reads-With-Tail's mind than just receiving even more presents. “What sort of errand are we talking about here?”

Alvor dropped his voice to a stage whisper. “I've got a handcart of product and supplies for one of my fellow smiths in Whiterun. A fine lady by the name of Adrianne Avenicci, but since the more famous smith in the city is Stormcloak-aligned and mostly tied up working for the Companions anyway, she sometimes calls for help. Since you've got a delivery, and for the smith who isn't a fan of Ulfric, the guards ought to let you through – and if we're lucky, our boys have already convinced the Jarl that you should be trusted."

Reads-With-Tail nodded at each step. Finally, once Alvor was done, he asked the only important question: “Why are we whispering?”

The smith sat up and shook his head rapidly, as if waking up from a nap.  _ Which truth be told sounds tempting right now, the water is lovely. _ And though his talk had been unproductive, simply saying all those things had distracted the boy long enough for relaxation to sneak up and club him between the horns. In the time between his question and Alvor's response, he nearly drifted off entirely.

“Old habit, sorry. Dorthe loves it when I help her think there's some great courtly plot or important adventure behind her chores. Doesn't work for you, Reader?”

Reads-With-Tail cocked his head. “I just never thought of it that way. That's clever!”

“What's clever, Reader?” came a high clear voice from inches behind his shoulder. “What have you and papa been talking about? Oh, did I miss the story of how you took down the Frostbite Spider? Or stood with Uncle Hadvar and Uncle Ralof against a whole tribe of bandits? I'd really wanted to hear those...oh, right! I almost forgot, mama is still waiting on that water if you want anything hot to go with lunch.” The Argonian wondered if he'd just experienced a levitation spell – his posture hadn't changed, but he swore he'd been off the ground for most of Dorthe's speech. And now his legs and back had cramped to go with it.

“We really must have lost track of time out here! Tell Sigrid we'll be right in,” Alvor shouted over his shoulder.  _ She sounds too close to shout at, but then again she's definitely growing into her father's voice. _

“I can carry the water if you don't have it already, Reader,” Dorthe offered.

Reads-With-Tail hastily dove for the bucket, snatching it up with both hands so she wouldn't have the chance. “No, no, I promised I'd do it.” He used the bucket itself to push off the ground, twisting up into a squat so he could submerge it easily.  _ Somewhere a little further out, don't want to bring in a pail of silt! _

The pants he'd been lent got blessedly wet around his shins as he splashed out into the shallows, quickly whisking the water up around his knees. This wasn't the sort of soak he was used to in the bay back home – even the Nords stayed out of the water there when they could avoid it! But he could see himself just lowering his body into the river here and drifting for hours if not for his immediate mission.

The bucket was remarkably light even once he had it sloshing full, and a quick squint assured the Argonian that it wasn't on account of a leak. He took his right hand off the grip, twisting his body and tail to counterbalance it.

Except he couldn't let go. His muscles snarled against his scales, threatening to leave them behind if they wouldn't obey, but someone had lined the bottom of the handle with resin and he'd never noticed. The way his hands curled, even his palms were glued on at the strangest angle. It wasn't enough to hurt except when he pulled, but it was far from pleasant.

And much worse, he was balanced as if the pail was swinging off to his left, while it actually remained resolutely in front of him. He fell hard, the weight of the water yanking his arms out over his head as he went. There was no way he could get even his elbows back in position to check his fall at this angle, so Reads-With-Tail scrunched up his muzzle and braced for the pain.

It didn't come from the side he expected. “We've got you!” Alvor grunted in his ear, holding him off the ground by the roots of his tail and his surviving horn. The boy made to rub those handles the moment his belly touched the pebbly ground, but only succeeded in straining his arms from yet another angle. Dorthe was muttering invective from just behind her father, words he wondered if she'd picked up from his own mind right now, all directed at somebody named “Frodnar.”

“Don't worry, Reader, I know how he does that. It's not hard to fix, but we'll have to get you inside first, okay?” He felt Dorthe's dress swirling around right of his crooked tail, and slowly levered himself upright so that he swung through his opposite side.  _ Don't want to swat her! _

“Thanks,” he choked out. “I'll get another bucketful first though. I promised!”

Though the good cheer was back in his voice, and had never truly left hers, Reads-With-Tail still felt the shame of his mistake. He'd run so late on the errand, lost almost the entire pail of water, nearly splintered the bucket, needed rescue here in this safe gentle village...he caught Alvor's eye. The smith looked at him with that same level stare from their talk moments before. Some of the guilt cowered away from him.

Rather than mope any longer, he carefully lined himself up with the river, bucket and all, and took a hopping dive straight in. The water was deeper than he'd thought out in the middle, deep enough to hold his feet off the bed –  _ not that that's much of an accomplishment, it's barely a wading pool for the local Nords! _ But it was no less wonderful than in the shallows, the current strong enough to pull at him but nowhere near enough to drag him away like the undertow around Windhelm. He could almost  _ feel _ the luster seeping back into his scales, and splashed his head underwater to spread the joy.

And... _ there _ ! Of course a river like this one had salmon to spare.  _ I just hope there aren't any slaughterfish _ , he realized belatedly, but even with the slight ache in his eyeballs he could see well enough through the faintly green water. Certainly well enough to see the pair of salmon splashing up towards him against the current! Grinning, he spun himself around as far as the bucket would allow, bringing his body almost perpendicular to the riverbed. The fish saw the strange obstruction and swung around him, but his grin turned savage as he kicked out with both feet at once, webs fully outstretched.

The impact left him a little sore, as it always did when he had to take the inverted approach, but he brought his eyes back above the surface in time to see both fish land hard on a slate outcropping on the riverbank, just left of a startled Dorthe and slowly applauding Alvor.

Reads-With-Tail gave a wave both both hands and the bucket, letting the water cascade over his head and wash his broken horn, then dipped the bucket back under the surface one last time and swam back to shore triumphantly.

The moment his chest left the water his pride faded to meekness. “Sorry I soaked your pants...”

“I've still got the robe,” Alvor replied easily. “And two salmon for later is more than a fair trade for a little space on the drying rack!”

“I can hang this up for you if you show me where it goes. And I'll take care of the fish once we're ready too.” The boy was loathe to make his success mean extra work for his hosts.

“You gut it and Sigrid will gut you,” the smith said with his loudest laugh all day. “She handles the cookfires around here and no one else.”

_ I guess that's her choice, _ Reads-With-Tail thought, still grudgingly.

“Now stop playing around and let's eat! I've been at the workbench since midmorning, and you're going on three days out from your last meal, so move!”

Now  _ that _ the boy had no argument with.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I have prepared, so my posting is going to slow way down. I think I'll have the next chapter ready a bit behind schedule, but after that I can't make any promises. Editing and uploading here has definitely helped me get it back on the rails though, so hopefully I won't abandon it for too long!
> 
> Edit 9-17-18: After much hemming and hawing, I've made a brief but significant change near the end of the chapter. Instead of sending Reader off on a brief dungeon crawl sidestory, I'm letting him make his way straight to Whiterun. I've been working on the sidestory version for literal years now and it simply hasn't worked, so it's time to get on with the core plot.


	7. Chapter 7

It was hard work, pushing a heavy handcart from unnatural angles. But it was also impossible to be unhappy while dance-stepping across a sun-dappled stone bridge. Birdsong above and beyond him and a breeze just firm enough to match the noontime warmth soaked into Reads-With-Tail's parched scales and sang in his skull. The world felt like laughter.

So it was okay that he was skipping from side to side and occasionally hopping all the way up on the bridge's walls despite trying to push a cart laden down with Master Alvor's ironmongery. This was the sort of day that insisted he enjoy life for a bit.

The bridge out of Riverwood passed behind him all too quickly, though to Reads-With-Tail's absolute delight the soil on the far side was soaked through and just a little bit icy. Cold enough to remind him of home, not nearly so cold to bring up memories of the mountaintop. The boy flinched, his arches twitching in the mud as his brain tried to catch up with itself.  _ The temperature didn't make me think of the blizzard, but  _ realizing _ that sure did. _ He resolutely didn't think about what that might mean for his return to Windhelm's docks.

Instead, he held a moment longer, worming his claws through the loam, grateful he'd convinced Master Alvor to hold off on giving him the boots until “next time.” His whole body shuddering as he felt moisture leak into his toasted scales. He'd needed the fire, of course, but it had done unwelcome things to him at the same time, and his body was letting him know in no uncertain terms that it liked this much better.

He wasn't about to argue with it either.

It took the boy a few minutes longer to break his trance and keep trundling the cart along. The technically cobbled road wound along the base of the rocky ridge he'd clambered up to first meet Master Ralof, parallel to both the curve of the rock and the swell of the river, still wet enough that the cartwheels sank in a fingersbreadth but also studded with so many pebbles just below the surface that it couldn't actually get stuck. The clacking and grinding that reverberated up Reads-With-Tail's arms as he pushed were the first things all day that tried to spoil his good mood.

The second thing that tried was a quick mental calculation of the daylight he had left. Last time he'd made the trip, it had been dark before he even got to this point, and he hadn't been pushing a handcart at the time either.  _ That being said, I'm also well-fed – _ Miss Sigrid's table fare deserved better than a comparison with the fish leather she'd sent up the mountain – _ and not at the tail end of a sprint across half the realm. _ But it was still very likely he'd arrive at Whiterun in the late evening at best, and he'd be fully exposed to the steppe winds once he passed the mountain.

_ I've lived through worse, _ he reminded himself dismissively, trying to shake the thought away. It was true, after all – Windhelm on a still day was still colder and wetter than even a thunderstorm on the Whiterun plains could possibly be, and he'd survived...three, maybe four if you spun it right, trips through the eternal squall outside the barrow.  _ With help, with help! _ Wouldn't do to sound prideful about it.

_ Curious, _ Reads-With-Tail mused idly.  _ Actually thinking about the blizzard directly like that doesn't bother me. I mean, it shouldn't, I didn't die or anything and I'm used to the cold... _ As soon as he started to downplay it, his eyes filled with white and the gentle alpine breeze flogged him. Twice, thrice, four strikes before the moment passed. He puffed out a ragged breath, steadied himself on the yoke, and got back to work.

Good food and two days of sleep clearly outweighed the load of the cart. Even as the pathway hooked around an enormous weather-sleek boulder and climbed up the earth hillside behind it, the boy could feel himself still making good progress. And while his legs pumped, he let his gaze wander. He'd passed through pine forests like this before, true. One at the base of the Throat –  _ why don't we call that plateau the Collarbone? _ He laughed at his own joke.

And the other was this very grove, of course. But he'd only been here after sundown with a desperate race to run, and the woods along the Collarbone had threatened him with Frostbites until he was far from the trees. Here, he had a chance to actually look around, bathe in a part of the world that couldn't be more alien from the ancient stones of home.

And he needed more of it. His bones ached with the need to run wild in the damp mossy topsoil, to scrunch up the rotten wood of fallen trees and old stumps, to soak the faint mist and motes of sunlight in through every pore.  _ Do Argonians actually have pores? I don't think anyone's really explored how our scales take in moisture. _

He needed to just stand here and  _ breathe. _

Of course, he also needed to see Alvor's products to Whiterun, preferably today. At least his arms and legs remembered their duty while his head was off knitting a blanket of pine needles. He took long slow breaths, holding the forest in his lungs and in his snout, and chased bird and butterflies with his eyes as the cart rolled steadily on up the switchbacks.

 

Beautiful as it was, Reads-With-Tail hadn't realized how  _ small _ the woods actually were. He recognized the streamers of moss he'd smeared across his back just those few nights earlier, the rock he'd climbed onto the shelf where Master Ralof had found him, now just another part of the terrain off on his left as he hooked around the highest switchback and began to turn downhill. He could already see the edge of the trees, the golden plains and pinprick wildflowers of the Whiterun steppe rolling down before him, blending into a wall of light that stretched to the horizon.

Somewhere out there above the thick-packed branches was the spine of tall hills that saved Whiterun from the winds off the Sea of Ghosts, somewhere behind the trunks with their glossy coats of moss and lichen were a meadery and a couple of farmyards that dangled like flags on a still day from the edge of the city. He'd pass them all soon enough; he didn't feel the slightest need to rest yet. There was the faintest burn in his chest and upper arms, maybe, but he was too heady with the life all around him to even be breathing hard at the end of the steepest climb of his route. His eyes ached with a desire to surround himself with the glorious warm gold of the prairie, put the full bright sun on his shoulders, but his lungs were happy where he was for a little while longer.

Focused thought was hard when he could hear his blood humming with joy, but the afternoon's delight demanded that Reads-With-Tail rethink a few things.  _ I wonder if anyone else needs a courier? _ His stomach tossed a little in protest –  _ I really should get back to the docks, or everyone will think I'm unreliable – might think  _ we're all _ unreliable _ – but his selfishness was, for once in his life, starting to gain ground on his responsibilities.  _ Not all the traffic through Windhelm is by ship. Maybe I can scrape barnacles and recaulk the hulls some days and haul cargo through Eastmarch others? _

_ Like Kennet does – well, he just guards caravans, but I could do it too. _ The thought of working with Kennet directly, getting to share in his misadventures and support him as diligently as a creature like him possibly could, sent a much different sort of lurch through Reads-With-Tail's gut. The vibrations in his arms weren't just from rolling the iron-shod cartwheels over a rock, either. Daydreams cut off his view of the beauty around him, painting over it with the maple rainforest of the Rift and the boiling clay that filled the great depression between Eastmarch and Whiterun, and also with...other things.  _ I wish Argonians could blush. It would make narrating my life much easier if I could just say that instead of “my lips puff and shake in thus-and-so a way while I dip my head.” But no, my body language just has to make things... _

The eager tremors in his arms and chest gave way to a sudden yanking pain, dismissing the dreamscape in an instant. Belatedly, Reads-With-Tail realized he was rushing downhill far faster than he should have been, and the road made another quick switchback somewhere just  _ behind _ him –

At least there was a tree  _ right there _ , and the undergrowth was just some sparse ivy and fallen needles. Because unless he very much missed his guess, there were rapids not far down the slope from where he'd just crashed. It wasn't much comfort with his already abused ankle twisted under the overturned cart, but at least he didn't have to scoop quick-rusting cargo out of the water.

Carefully, the boy levered himself up off the ground again, wincing at the pinpricks as pine needles shook loose from the gaps between his scales. The cart was, amazingly, mostly fine. Its axle had come to a complete halt as the right wheel scraped its way into the dirt, but it was still intact without even a bow or splinter that he could see.

The front of the cart was much worse off, as was only natural after he'd charged it into the trunk of a pine tree. The planks there  _ were _ bowed in, the bottom two completely snapped where they'd bounced off a knot. With luck it wouldn't cause a problem with the cargo going forward,  _ but I should put my shield in front as a buffer instead of just stacking it on top from now on. _ Reads-With-Tail prodded the little cloth purse the warriors had left him, trying to calculate how much it would cost to replace the front planks of the cart and probably refit the axle just to be safe.  _ It's a hopeless exercise,you've never been to Whiterun to know what they charge for things. You really have more important things to worry about. _

Whatever time Reads-With-Tail had made with his earlier surge of energy, he spent it all crawling around through the ivy to make absolutely sure he'd tracked down every last piece of cargo. Most of it had stayed put, bundled up in well-secured oilcloth with his shield as a roof, but some smaller pieces had gone flying and he hadn't taken an inventory beforehand so he had to check and recheck a half-dozen times before he was sullenly prepared to cut his losses and keep moving again. It was  _ hard _ to find wrought iron nails against rich black soil.

_ But it was my mistake. I deserve for it to be hard. If I'd been paying attention like a competent person, everything would be fine. _

Sighing, Reads-With-Tail trundled the cart back onto the path, his shield pressed up against the crumpled front planks like the prow of a ship. At least he knew Alvor's cargo in detail now. It was a little disappointing for his imagination, which had desired magic swords and the like, but it also made a great deal of sense. Every smith would probably be overwhelmed with calls for nails and horseshoes and rebar far more often than they'd hear calls for arms and armor, and if one of them  _ did _ take a weapon order then they'd have to delay the more common bulk orders while they got the fancier work right. Alvor was a generous man to take on some of that burden for a fellow smith, especially since Miss Avenicci was technically a competitor.

The boy exhaled slowly, puffing the last of the enlivening forest air out of his lungs and adjusting his hold on the yoke. Then he set off again at a trot, his twisted ankle quickly falling silent as he put it back to work.  _ You can't swim for a living if you can't put your limbs wherever they need to be. Guess that keeps me safe on dry land too. _ Another argument in favor of getting back home to Windhelm's port where he belonged, then.

Guilt for his flights of fancy kept Reads-With-Tail's head down most of the time, but the world around him was still infectious no matter how hard he tried to resist. He sneaked quick glances off down the slope every few seconds, letting the prairie below trickle into his eyes instead of opening the floodgates like he had before. The sun had ducked around the barrow peak while he'd been busy, casting long spiky shadows across the plains. Where the light hit, the dry grasses still shone gold, but where the shadows fell it was shiny ember orange, promising comfort and rest by night where it had offered life and energy at midday. All he had to do to claim it was wander off into the steppes.

Every time he came back to that thought, the boy shook the fog out of his head and focused on the road. He was too old and had too much riding on his good behavior to just go frolic in the tall grasses, far from home.

 

Back in the woods, Reads-With-Tail had breathed deeply to hold the world close to him. Now that he'd reached the flatlands, he couldn't cough it up fast enough.  _ The pollen wasn't nearly this thick last time! _ Wildflowers of all shapes and sizes popping out of a field of brass made for a beautiful sight, but if the winds weren't blowing at full strength the air simply couldn't hold all their scents. And so it tried to unload those scents into the nostrils of random Argonian travelers, not seeming to realize that  _ he _ couldn't hold them without bursting either.

His eyes itched ever harder no matter how often he blinked, making it frustratingly hard to take in the oil-painting sunset sky above the northern horizon. Everything about the prairie evening seemed to be conspiring to make him miserable, balancing the scales for his comfortable morning and delirious day.

It was incredibly tempting to pull up his cart at the gate of the meadery where the road forked west, knock on the door and ask if they had any chores that needing doing in exchange for a roof to sleep under. Whatever was in the air was sapping his strength with ridiculous haste. But the great mesa of Whiterun City was just off his right shoulder now. Itchy or not, he could make his delivery tonight, or at least ask the night guard for passage and find a place to rest outside the city if he himself was still barred from entry.

So he kept marching, the handcart's wheels rattling on the much better paved main road. The topsoil he'd spent all day in had made him grateful for leaving Alvor's boots behind, but the hard irregular cobbles were starting to change his mind. As the meadery fell behind, he swung off to the side of the cart like he'd done back on the bridge hours earlier, squelching the balls of his feet into the dry earth. It was harder, shallower soil than what he'd been enjoying all day, but it was still an improvement over the spiny rocks that held the highway together. And the sounds of the river, which had split off into a gentle brook that lapped along a tantalizingly short way from the road, added a little more comfort. As he came up on the low wall around a farm estate, cicadas added their voices to the night air.

Something else was filling the air too, something pungent enough to batter aside the medley of nectars that assailed the boy's snout. And as he came even with the third garden plot, he suddenly had an eyeful of just what. A massive corpse he'd mistaken for distant mountains in the gloom lay in the middle of the third field, mold and rot running in rivers away from it where it had crushed an entire crop of vegetables when it fell. A club that was really just most of a tree had rolled out of the Giant's hand and bounced over the last wall out of the yard. He didn't want to think about what it would take to haul that corpse away and make the field usable again,  _ Maybe I'll be hired to assist in the morning? Could be fun. _

Now that the “distant mountain” was behind him, Reads-With-Tail had a clear view of the entire sweeping steppe. The last red sunlight set a tall sentry tower ablaze out further west, maybe six or seven times as far from him now as he was from the meadery. There was a fork just ahead, continuing the highway out past that tower and also sending a  _ genuine _ cobbled road up the steep slope to the mesa. The shadowy bulk of a stable and wagonhouse – he remembered them from when he'd confronted the guard a few days prior – squatted just up that road, still on level ground.  _ Maybe I can stop there for the night and deliver this directly to Miss Avenicci in the morning. Master Alvor's goods will have to be safe in a place like that! _

But as he made to turn up towards Whiterun at last, he was distracted by something flickering in the corner of his eye. He turned back towards the watchtower just in time for the wind to gust directly towards him, searing his eyes and nose anew.  _ Why would there be sunlight bouncing off the north face of that tower, _ he realized belatedly.  _ The sun set in the south. And it's totally gone behind the mountains by now. _

Suddenly everything wrong with the evening socketed into place. Reads-With-Tail took off running for the wagonhouse. He parked his cart haphazardly against the side of the building, forced to trust for the moment that there would be no thieves in the night, and scrabbled blindly in the basket for his equipment. The moment his shield was on his arm and his tools were in his belt, the little Argonian dashed out west through the stinging mist of windblown smoke, towards the red firelight that tore across the wrong side of the tower.

 

Reads-With-Tail felt floaty and disconnected as he raced towards the burning tower. The distance fell away in seconds and yet the building was always hours away. His eyes, already near-blind in the night, pulsed with grey to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Whatever had ignited the tower, if it was hostile and still nearby he knew he'd never see it before it could pounce. It was a terrifying thought, but one that was easy to file away as an inevitability. He couldn't  _ not _ try to help fight the fire. There was no water close by, but he'd run laps back and forth to the city as many times as he had to if that was what it took.

He didn't even entirely realize he'd reached the tower until a voice pricked his ears. He doubled over, grabbing his left knee with his free hand and letting his shield arm dangle, panting and heaving while his heart and lungs argued. As the throbbing sounds receded, he listened again for the voice, raising his eyes to scan the disaster site.

“ _ Down!”  _ somebody hissed loudly from out of sight. “It's still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!” There was an ugly pain in the man's voice as he named his companions.

But what was he talking about? There weren't many “its” even someone who'd read as many epics as Reads-With-Tail could match to a disaster like this. The firelight illuminated the scene from plenty of angles to get an idea of the site. Decrepit fortifications ran off back to the east, half-buried in dirt and obviously long-forgotten even before whatever had happened tonight. The tower itself had a single door facing him, the inside completely black to his eyes.

Which meant...something. Something about the fire.  _ If the building itself was burning, there'd be light inside it too, wouldn't there? _

The stone  _ itself _ was on fire.

As if the Eight-and-One had been waiting for him to figure it out, an immense burst of wind flattened the young Argonian against the road, giving him starlight for a brief moment before  _ something _ in the sky covered them up again. And then it passed completely out of view, mighty wingbeats pressing smoke away from the tower and out into the low haze he'd been breathing in all the way across the flatlands.

And Reads-With-Tail knew what was happening now, and it took all the discipline and duty he'd learned over the years not to sink to the ground and faint.  _ At least it'd be painless if you let that happen, _ a part of his mind advised. But there were people in trouble inside that tower, and flames that could jump the trail in an instant and ignite all the scrubgrass out to the horizon – as well-behaved as the fire seemed to be thus far, he couldn't trust it. He forced himself forward towards the doorway on melting legs, spinning slowly as he walked, trying to see anything, any clue that could tell him where and when to expect the dragon.

 

He had no idea what it was that warned him, but as he stepped close to the door he heard an oddly  _ enunciated _ roar at the exact moment that a fireball bigger than he was hurtled towards him from beyond the smoke. Somehow, he was already hurtling off to the right, sliding a short distance on his shield and spinning around to get his feet towards the ground.

All his terror-weakness was gone now, just as it had been against the spider, and in its place was something he could almost pretend was confidence. He'd been here before. The enemy was so, so much more terrifying, but the emotions were familiar enough to be getting on with.

Reads-With-Tail was halfway back to his feet when the fireball impacted. There was no shockwave, no detonation, none of the sound and force he should have braced for. The fire just  _ clung  _ to the ground where it struck, an inferno springing silently into existence just behind his tailtip. His momentum was already carrying him the rest of the way out of the puddle of heat, and his claws dug into the pebbled earth just in time for something much more corporeal to slam the world out from under him.

The boy threw his left leg back to brace himself against the roar that followed, holding his shield high. Finally he could see the monster, a mountain of rocky scales painted yellow by the flames that faded into pools of black in the haze. His broken horn wept through its dressing and he only heard the world through a pillow, but those were minor discomforts. Reads-With-Tail's mining pick was in his hand as he looked up –  _ way _ up – at the dragon's face. Two enameled horns reflected the firelight into the sky from the back of an armor-plated delta. As he looked, the dragon roared again, a different rhythm than the last time even through the boy's deafness. The mass of armor split nearly in half, mighty fangs hooking out of both jaws with double rows of shark teeth filling the rest of the monster's long muzzle.

_ Think of it this way, the fangs'll get you before you have to feel any of the rest of it. _ Somehow Reads-With-Tail was still standing firm, inured to thoughts of discomfort no matter how loudly his instincts screamed.  _ It's not like I could run faster than it can catch me! _

The river-rock armor against the dragon's throat quivered in a way that the boy instinctively knew heralded a lunging bite, and he tossed himself down on his shield arm a second time just as the colossal jaws sounded a thunderclap where he'd been standing. He recovered his stance even faster this time, but the dragon was already turning to track him even as it pulled its head back. He was still directly in front of it, and its head was tracking him  _ horizontally _ instead of resetting for another strike – 

There was no way he was getting underneath or outside the bite this time. So the boy hopped forward, sounding its chest with his pick as he hugged it too closely for its mouth to get at him. The move seemed to baffle it – Reads-With-Tail had two whole breaths before it roiled up to slam down on top of him.

He'd survived that trick with the spider, but something told him he'd have less luck against a creature that seemed to be made out of rock. He took the chance to hop back again, glad he hadn't committed to a strike at its chest, and walked sideways towards where its wing ought to be. He hadn't had a clear view in the mad firelight, certainly not with so much of the monster's body in his way, but as it checked its body-slam and rose again he slammed the sharp end of his pick down over its left wing.

The roar that followed could almost have been mistaken for words – probably words that Reads-With-Tail wasn't supposed to know before his twenties, if he dared let himself hope that he'd hurt the beast. He'd had to at least startle it; the wing had stopped rising and its head had lurched up. Taking advantage of its distraction, he vaulted over the bony wing arm so that his weight and momentum could drag the pick through the wing membrane.

At least, that was the plan. But his body bounced off that membrane like a drumskin and his pick moved maybe a fingersbreadth before getting stuck in place. There was a rapid swell beneath him that left him horribly dizzy, and then it fell out again, only to rise still faster.

_ Talos protect me, I'm flying on it, aren't I? _

The dragon didn't seem to be able to reach him where he was dangling, which was one small comfort, but it also seemed eager to dislodge him. And if he fell here, he'd lose his best weapon – not to mention break both legs in the landing, if it had gained any height at all. He felt blood well up in his knuckles as he clutched the pick in both hands.

Three things happened at once. The dragon's rhythmic wingbeats turned sloppy for just a moment and its head jerked back towards the tower. It took in a sharp gasp of air that, save for its volume, sounded for all the world like a regular person who had been talking for too long. And most urgently for Reads-With-Tail, the sudden jostle tilted the angle of his pick in its densely muscled wing, twisting the point a bit more parallel with the membrane.

Suddenly he  _ was _ falling, but slowly, as the pick gouged its way along the grain of the wing membrane. The dragon made three harsh barks, each so much like a word, and fire blossomed from its mouth towards the area around the watchtower. It didn't flow, it wasn't a directed stream of fire riding the monster's breath. It just existed, hanging in the air and connecting the dragon to whatever it pointed at.

His pick ground against a particularly knotted bunch of muscle, and the dragon was suddenly gushing flame directly into the night sky. There were no words at all in the roar this time, just an animal howl of pain. Reads-With-Tail was dangling almost entirely free of the wing now, and the dragon's flailing finally did more than his grip could manage. He was hurled backwards, grinding to a halt through a bed of coarse stones. He staggered upright slowly, wishing he could cradle his neck and rub his eyes clear at the same time.

The dragon's attention was clearly divided. Someone – the tower guards! – must have been attacking it from the front. But it hadn't forgotten its original prey either. Its enormous tail mulched the ground around where Reads-With-Tail had crashed, its aim horrifyingly close even completely blind.

He somersaulted forwards towards the road, making a little space between himself and the dragon's rock-splitting strikes. He felt it lunge at one of the guards, heard a human yelp but not the screams of pain that could have followed it, finally caught his footing and his breath. His pick had been tossed free of the wing at some point, he noticed, but where it had landed he had no idea.  _ Hammer it is then _ . He awkwardly wiggled the little tool free, his bruised arms starting to stiffen.

With a wordless bellow of frustration, the dragon reared all the way up on its hind legs and spun in a wide circle, whipping its tail at the guards –  _ two of them _ , the boy saw with its bulk momentarily out of the way. The roar and the literal thunderclap from the club tip of its tail deafened him entirely. Even his thoughts were muted and distant. He couldn't hear whether or not he screamed out as he saw the two soldiers slam into each other and hurtle like a skipping stone into the hillside.

The dragon heard him, though. Free again of distractions, it turned and stalked towards him, walking on the clawed hands at the tips of its wings. Arrows hung uselessly from the outermost scales of its chin, and a stab wound in its cheek leaked blood. It beat its hurt wing experimentally as it went, seemingly giving up on the idea of flying for now.  _ At least we achieved that much. It won't be able to hurt anyone else before they learn it's here. _

It lowered its head to the boy's level, reminding him once again that it probably didn't even need to chew him if it could catch him. Once again, it sucked in air like an overeager public speaker. Once again its lips twitched up, forming its incantation.

Reads-With-Tail smashed it in the jaw.

It actually flinched away from that, one eye still tracking him with a glare that swore brutal revenge. The huge block of its head hooked around from the side again, but it neither spoke nor struck. He could see it working its jaw, trying to undo whatever damage his hammer had caused. Trying to pop its joint back into place.

This time he hit it in the throat. The hammer rebounded off the stone scales harmlessly, sending angry vibrations through his arm, but at least he'd tried. The monster's fury was a gathering winter wind, carrying through the air with no need for words.

It responded to his blow with another body slam, this one much swifter. Almost more of a push-up, but with plenty of force and weight behind it. Reads-With-Tail narrowly managed to get his shield most of the way up, propped it up further with his hammer, putting his whole body into checking the thing's motion.

He was only partly successful. His shield arm blazed with such sudden pain that his eyes tried to tell him it was truly on fire. It would have been a more comfortable lie than seeing how it had crumpled backwards at the elbow. But the dragon pulled itself away before it could smash the boy to paste, making a strange noise that filtered through his tortured hearing. A harsh, wet sound.

_ Who knew that dragons could cough like anyone else? _

The thought was strangely cheering. Shield arm mangled against his side, Reads-With-Tail struggled upright again. Tears were trickling out silently, mixing with the soot in the air to fill his eyes and mouth with mud, but he could still see the dragon almost as well as when it had first struck. It just hurt.  _ Everything _ just hurt.

One more time, the dragon loomed over him. It was hurt by now too, he could tell. Its lips twitched, but it seemed to think better of trying to speak. For an endless heartbeat they each waited for the other to move.

The dragon made to snap downwards at him, just like it had at the beginning. But Reads-With-Tail knew they'd both learned, and watched it stop its feint short and pivot to hook in from the right. The way he had dodged every single time. There could be no dodging now. He swung out one more great arc with his hammer, and it found purchase on something soft and yielding where the monster's throat met its neck.

It recoiled, rearing all the way upright in shock and –  _ panic? _ Despite the great tear all through the length of its wing it tried to leap into the air, tried to fly away, hoped to recover. But the damage betrayed it and it toppled to the ground sideways. Reads-With-Tail joined it in the dirt, too hurt and exhausted to give any more, but he kept unfocused eyes on his enemy.

The dragon's back and neck whipped in great waves, head thrashing the empty air. Little stifled squeaks whispered out through the smoke, punctuated by great hacking coughs that made the whole massive creature tremble. But its struggles were slowing down, its motions ever less dramatic, even becoming pitiable.

Reads-With-Tail's vision went dark a breath before the dragon stopped moving entirely.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's here! I've been working on a different version of this godsforsaken chapter for *three years*, and when I decided to just change Reader's destination I got it done in a single sitting. Haven't had a write like this in far, far too long. Reader got a bit more beaten up than I originally intended at the end there, so a somewhat important plot confirmation is going to have to wait for when he wakes up. But eh, I'm sure we can all deal with it, kid's earned another coma-nap.


	8. Chapter 8

Reads-With-Tail made three mistakes when he woke up. First, he tried to push himself upright. Second, he took a deep breath. And third, he opened his eyes.

His ruined right arm saved him from the worst of it. As his brain caught up with his body, he felt a weight there, warm and moist but brutally heavy. He wasn't able to put weight on his arm, or even to move it much at all, especially not weak with sleep. So all that error cost him was a brief sting and some persistent throbbing. Just a warning.

The coughs that wracked his body when he tried to suck in air quickly drowned out that warning. Somebody had been thoughtful enough to partially submerge him, enough to wet his gills and keep his scales moist without covering his mouth, but he had sloshed it around as he started to move, and his yawning breath sucked down far more water than air. At least the water was clean, eerily so since he'd been bathing in it for who knew how long. It should have been muddied by road dust and dragonsoot, but it was spring-pure. If it had just gone down his crackling throat instead of into his lungs, it would have been the most wonderful thing.

His eyes weren't ready for the sparkling multicolored brightness of wherever he was resting. Twin kaleidoscope lances stabbed deep into the back of his skull the instant his eyelids dropped their guard. He tossed his head back in shock, arms still at lest and unable to shield him, the already unsettled water sloshing and spraying all around him. As a small consolation, the fine mist that settled down across his scalp massaged his browline, a soothing touch that under other circumstances might have put him right back to sleep. But even though the tension leaped out of his scalp, the rest of him was still too busy lurching around as he pumped out his lungs.

Besides, he was ready to be awake. It was disgraceful to start his day in a frozen coma and end it in an injured one. Too much of a burden on whoever had to keep saving him.

As his breathing steadied and his torso settled back into the pool, a shadow fell across Reads-With-Tail's eyelids. He tentatively opened his eyes again, as slowly as he had the coordination to control. A person stood above him, their head bracketed by a brilliant halo of bluish sunlight. _They're standing in front of a window_ , the boy woke up enough to realize. _A temple window, or at least a very fancy one, to catch the sun this way._ It explained the other colors he'd been impaled on the first time, too – if this was a temple, the odds were very good there was stained glass everywhere it would fit.

 _So I really was rescued._ It wasn't a surprise, he'd already known he'd been well cared for while he slept, but he desperately needed to know what had happened during his dead time. He turned his stiff neck so he could sip the water properly, trusting that whatever blessing or artifice had kept it pure this long was still holding up. He could hardly ask any questions when his throat was splitting apart like an ice shelf!

His observer noticed his conscious movement. “Good, you _are_ awake,” she said, her voice somewhere between mellow and just exhausted. “Kynareth help me, I don't think I've got what I need to mend your crown if you'd kept rocking around like that. Danica's out and I've been burning my magical reserves all morning.”

“Besides,” a proud Dunmer woman added from somewhere across the room, “Kries isn't awake yet either, and he's got more urgent worries on his mind. It wouldn't do to lose our only other witness to whatever happened at the western tower.”

“Lady huscarl, ma'am,” the first woman – _the priest-surgeon who saved me_ – said with the barest minimum of courtesy, “this young man has plenty to worry about himself. I understand that the Jarl needs his answers. But you've been patient all morning, and you can be patient another hour. Or, you can be patient another hour _outside_.” Even blind, Reads-With-Tail could see her bare-fanged smile with perfect clarity.

After a moment of awkwardly listening to Reads-With-Tail's pond water ripple about, the elven warrior answered. “I'll fetch the Jarl. We'll understand if it takes you a while longer to have him ready, but if he seems all right when you wake him the rest of the way up then try to have him ready for us.”

“Best I can hope for, isn't it?” The boy's eyes were open enough to see her wave languidly in the direction of the window, though he still couldn't make out any detail. “I'll be sure to expect you both soon, then. Tell Jarl Balgruuf I'll do my best, but I can hardly tell nature to hurry.”

The elf gave a dry chuckle that made Reads-With-Tail's heart ache for Miss Berit's reading cubby. Her vague silhouette passed behind the priest, and a door opened and closed out of sight.

The young Argonian made limp gestures with his unbound left arm, pawing vaguely at the air. His caretaker leaned down, exposing his eyes to the full glare of three stained glass windows, and took his hand in both of hers. To his shame, she exerted most of the effort of hauling him upright. His splinted right arm still dangled in the water; his back and neck suddenly realized just how perfectly fitted the marble basin had been.

That seemed like an easy source of small talk. “Alteration magic?” he croaked, tweaking his hips to emphasize the pool. _It has to be, there's no way there'd be a slot to let my_ tail _rest this naturally._

The woman, an older Redguard lady with a severe face framed by coarse black hair, seemed to puff up a little at the question. “It's one of the little things Danica likes to see us do. Whenever poor Kreis wakes up,” she tossed her head at some other part of the room, “his back should be about as aligned as we can get it. Though...he's a special case.” She choked back some emotion Reads-With-Tail wasn't awake enough to catch. Frustration? Sadness? Perhaps something else?

“Was he one of the guards at the tower that night?” Whatever her reaction, he felt a need to understand more now, to see if he could learn enough to help out in some way.

“He was. Something threw him against a wall hard enough to break every bone above his legs. It took me everything I had plus one of Arcadia's potions just to make him safe to touch, and Jenssen cast himself into a migraine following up on it.”

The names meant nothing to Reads-With-Tail, though he could make some guesses when he eventually cared to. “The dragon. It caught him and his friend with its tail. Did the...” He swallowed the question. _If the other one had survived, they'd have mentioned a third patient. Or they wouldn't be so desperate to talk to me. I can't make her think about losing him right now._ “Well, you did a great job on me,” he offered instead, swinging his formerly dislocated right shoulder experimentally. “I know he's in good hands.”

The priest didn't seem impressed, but she tersely thanked him for the compliment anyway. “Well, you seem awake and lucid. There are tests I should probably run, but I can't remember them to save my life – or your life, I suppose.” It was the sort of joke Reads-With-Tail expected to hear delivered with high spirits and a laugh, not the brutal sarcasm that trickled out of the woman's voice. “If you're ready to dry off and get decent for the Jarl, I can help you out of the pool.”

Reads-With-Tail nodded, leaning forward into her firm grip. She had to put in the first half of the work, but eventually she'd rocked him far enough forward that he could get his legs under him and push the rest of the way up. Even with the crooked floor that had propped his knees up comfortably, he had no problem holding his balance once he was upright. It was a testament to the brilliant clergy who'd pieced him back together.

The lady released his hand cautiously, standing ready in case he wasn't up to standing on his own, but after letting the water stream off him for a moment she was evidently satisfied and trotted off. Now that his eyes had mostly adjusted, Reads-With-Tail tried to take in the temple. The rainbow of light filtered through three stained glass windows bracketing the main door, but the entire building was ringed in yellowed tavern-glass and open to the blue sky above through a double row of arches holding up the pagoda ceiling. Ivy and greenery dangled from every hook it could find, inside and out, and the air hung thick with sage and lavender. The boy didn't need the stained-glass mural, a red-breasted gull under a stormcloud, to tell him this was a temple of bold Kynareth.

The temple itself was a single open room, dominated by four shallow pools that bubbled up and away through some unseen pipes. His quarter's basin was heavily deformed, while the others were sleek marble. Shame churned in his stomach. His comfort shouldn't have been valued more than the sanctity of a holy space.

But it wasn't just _his_ comfort. Two marble tables bracketed the fountain, and one had been magically contorted into a canted armchair. The cool stone framed the guardsman's broken body, shed of his maille and cushioned by his aketon. From what his caretaker had said, it was the only thing keeping him as intact as he still was. _It isn't blasphemous to nurture the sick and the wounded in the temple of a goddess of life, really, is it? Kynareth would approve of them following her teachings and calling on her blessings more than she cares about daily worshippers. Though they didn't need to go to the effort for_ me.

“A towel,” the lady said suddenly from behind him, breaking his line of thought before he could convince himself to feel guilty again. “Just get the worst of it off. I'll help get you dressed after, not a chance you're doing everything yourself with just one arm.” She slapped a frayed cloth into the palm of his good hand, and he started blotting away the beaded water as best he could with his right side so stiff. It only now occurred to him that he'd been stripped, _again._ The only shame in it was how often it seemed to be happening lately – if the healers minded, they wouldn't have done it in the first place. As long as nobody who wasn't responsible for it had to see, he was free to be more embarrassed by the amount of care he'd demanded.

“I'm afraid the Jarl will have to see you shirtless, but with all those pockets ripped out of your shirt that's probably for the best.” Reads-With-Tail considered for a moment and nodded, accepting both that his familiar outfit wasn't something he'd want to present to the lord of the entire hold, and that there was no way he was getting his arm through the sleeves with the heavy splint and thick linen gauze warding it. “I wouldn't worry,” she said in a tone that was too sardonic to be comforting, “Balgruuf sees worse in the Bannered Mare thrice a week.”

“I'm not sure what to make of that,” the boy said, making himself grin back. _She tried! With as much as I'm sure she sees every day, with the war and all, I can't hold anything against her._

She snorted with something approximating genuine humor. “Neither does Huscarl Irileth. All right, that's enough, give me your leg.” They continued in silence as she got his pants aligned. Reads-With-Tail's spine sagged with relief as she started threading his cord belt and stepped back, giving him the agency to finish the process himself.

He had told himself he wasn't embarrassed, but he knew he'd been lying to himself as he cinched the belt over the top of his tail. _At least the warriors bundled me up so I wasn't just airing my scales in broad daylight._ “When do you expect they'll be back?” he asked in an attempt to get his mind off the entire subject of humiliation.

The lady tossed her hand. “Depends on what else the Jarl has on his plate. Probably more than just breakfast, this morning. We've got a few books in the corner if you'd like – you can read, right?” She was truly apologetic over the assumption, so the boy turned around and smiled as brightly as his face would allow.

“It's in my name,” he said with a quick laugh. “Reads-With-Tail.”

“Ahlam.” She gripped his good shoulder companionably. “It's been a pleasure working on you.”

 

Reads-With-Tail refolded a quarto and tossed it back on the shelf from whence it came. _Withershins_ had been a surreal little tale about mad Argonians with bizarrely named mental ailments and improbable anatomy, good only for keeping his eyes busy. _Good riddance, author couldn't be bothered to actually show us what the man was dealing with until the very last line. And Argonians don't go “balding! Even those of us with manes don't have near enough for that to matter”_ At least it was reassuring to remember that care could be given to those whose illnesses and injuries were invisible. It seemed so easy to forget or dismiss them, but even a little book of absurdities took time to remember.

A sound in the temple atrium drew his attention. The door had just opened – almost certainly his appointment; one of the other priests would have used the side door he was leaning against in the cubby. He rocked his way to his feet as quickly as he could, not wanting to keep the busy elf he'd met earlier waiting a moment longer.

He was slightly disappointed to see it was _only_ her, though. The redheaded Dunmer stood tall at the edge of the pool, an elegant estoc in her hand as she glanced about the chamber. Even in what ought to be the safest place in the city, she was fully armored, rawhide plates covering a maille byrnie and hose. Reads-With-Tail waited in place, trying to hold his chest as still as possible lest she view his breathing as a threat.

The huscarl prowled the building, brushing past him with unexpected care for his wounds to check the priests' cubbies. _I can only hope the sight of_ Withershins _doesn't sour her mood._ After locking the side doors and rattling them to test their steadiness, she finally looped back to the front door and braced it open. “The room is yours.”

Two men swept in. _Well, the first one is swooping, the second is doing more of a tiptoe._ The leader was clearly Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun, clad as he was in a dull purple arming-coat with an embroidered scarlet scapula and jeweled shoulders, a great fur cape dusting the granite floor behind him. His follower, meanwhile, stumbled over the hem of his midnight blue wizard's robe. Irileth closed and locked the main door like the others, then _finally_ sheathed her sword and placed herself between her lord and the little Argonian. _Directly between him and my good arm,_ he realized.

“Greetings, little one,” the Jarl said briskly, disregarding his champion's caution. Reads-With-Tail closed his eyes in sudden bliss – Jarl Balgruuf carried an identical accent to Ralof, even down to the hoarseness. _They both do a great deal of inspirational speaking, I can tell_. “I have the sense that my city has much to thank you for.” Eyes still closed, the boy ducked his head meekly. “I have some specific questions to ask, while we figure out exactly what is happening in Skyrim this past week, but only one of them right at this moment. Are you 'Reads-With-Tail,' young friend of both a Legionnaire and a Stormcloak?”

Reads-With-Tail nodded eagerly. “Yes, milord, that's me. They made it here safely?” He kicked his heel, coming perilously close to tripping himself in the process. “Of course they did, nothing could have stopped them. Besides, how else would you know my name?”

“Ah.” The Jarl nodded back. “I suppose that's fair.” His rolling voice sounded like a chuckle. The young Argonian couldn't help but be set at ease, even with Irileth still holding the distance between them. “Can you vouch for the story they told, of a dragon at Helgen who sent the Legion scattering?”

“I'm afraid not, milord. I only know what they told me, and that they wouldn't lie.” _No need to qualify that with an “I think” or “I believe,” they simply wouldn't._

“Damn.” The Jarl stretched his spine. “What I was really hoping was that you'd be able to tell us what the beast at Helgen looked like, so we could know if it was the same one you killed last night.”

Reads-With-Tail blinked. “I...killed it? I don't know, I hadn't really thought about that. I thought your soldiers must have arrived and driven it off.”

“Not at all. All you left for us to do was fetch a horsecart and some stretchers. The beast's corpse is chained in place on the balcony of Dragonsreach, where I'm sure Master Farengar here would rather be.”

The wizard gave an eager nod, not that anyone but Reads-With-Tail could see him. Then he stepped forward, leaning around his lord to address the boy personally. “I have many questions about how the beast behaved. I hope you can help me answer them.” There was something deeply wrong with his voice. It was monotone, except when it wasn't, with the wrong syllables accented, but not all the time. He showed a smile on a face visibly unaccustomed to them.

“Presently, Farengar. Actually, Reads-With-Tail, I would like you to tell us what happened from the time you arrived at the tower to the end of what you can remember. We can save our questions until we know what'll be worth the time to fill in. Do you find this agreeable?” The boy wasn't sure whether the Jarl meant that last question for him or for Farengar, but he certainly wasn't about to decline an order from the lord of Whiterun Hold.

His tale burbled out of him, starting with the flames that seemed to cling to solid stone and the haze that sat across the prairie and moving swiftly to the fight itself. How the dragon's scales turned blades and toughed arrows, how its wings were massive blocks of meat and armor, how each part of its body was a weapon and the creature could switch from one to the next without hesitation. How him falling behind it convinced it to take the mighty spin that crushed the two soldiers who tried to save him. Jarl Balgruuf pushed past Irileth to grip the boy's shoulder as he apologized, over and over. And amazingly, she let him.

It took Reads-With-Tail a while, but the Jarl was patient and gentle, and his champion cast no blame. It was that, not the Jarl's comforting, that finally dammed the boy's stream of apologies. “We do not blame you, Reads-With-Tail,” she told him. “Every man on that tower must have thought their lives forfeit when the dragon came. Because of you, two of them survived – one who ran to alert us, and one who you kept alive. And the priestesses are taking care of both of them, just like they did with you.”

Jarl Balgruuf let the little Argonian catch his breath for a moment, let some of the strain settle out of his eyes. Then he changed the subject entirely, not giving the shame a chance to regrow. “I'm sure Farengar has more questions for you about the beast's powers, but he has a full corpse to study back in the palace so I think he can wait a touch longer. For my part, I only have one more question for you: what were you doing just outside the city when you were? Kreis and I, and the whole city, are certainly grateful you were there; I just wonder if you have any business we can help you with while your arm heals.”

Reads-With-Tail kicked himself. He regretted it immediately; his tail was still a little leaden and his arm wasn't able to help him balance either, but at least the Jarl's strong arm was enough to keep him upright. A few hops later, he was steady enough to tuck his head, and ready to admit his mistake. “I completely forgot, I'm so sorry!”

The Jarl and his huscarl fixed him with matching stares, strong enough to make him peek up. He quickly decided to skip the abasement. “I was bringing a cart of metal goods from Master Alvor, the smith in Riverwood,” he squeaked instead. “I left it, where, it was dark...alongside the –”

“The caravanserai,” Irileth finished for him, nodding. “The morning patrol spotted that and brought it inside. We should have known it was yours, I suppose. Who should I instruct them to release it to? You? One of the merchants?”

The boy squeezed his eyes shut, searching for the name. “It was for one of his fellow smiths. Av...Avenicci, that's it!”

Jarl Balgruuf chuckled. “My Steward will be pleased to hear it. His daughter has taken on a few too many projects at once lately. A helping hand from Alvor is always welcome. I heard he's doing well?”

“Yes, milord!” When he realized that had been a question, Reads-With-Tail's reply made up for tardiness with volume. “I don't imagine anything has changed since Masters Hadvar and Ralof passed through.” _Now that I say that, though, didn't the dragon sweep in from over the mountain? Across the barrow, from the direction of Riverwood?_ He tried to remember but all that came to mind was smoke and firelight and thundering terror. But he'd had the thought, and so it was going to hover around him even after he had proof one way or the other.

The same thought seemed to have occurred to the Jarl. “I was drawing up plans to dispatch a sentry team to the village without _irritating_ Jarl Deng – ahem, Siddgeir of Falkreath. He's declared in favor of the Empire, and of the Thalmor,” his voice went studiously neutral, “and doesn't yet trust that I won't suddenly invade him on Ulfric's behalf.” Reads-With-Tail _felt_ Irileth roll her eyes. “I'll send the team this afternoon, but I could use a civilian courier to notify the Jarl of recent events.” Jarl Balgruuf made steady, blinking eye contact with the young Argonian. “Would you like me to ask Ahlam and Danica if you'll be fit to travel in another day or two? They do fine work and your wound was a simple sort.”

Reads-With-Tail's eyes went wide. _Wasn't I just thinking about this very thing?_ “I,” he swallowed a few times, throat suddenly parched. “It would be an honor, milord.” _An order from the master of Whiterun Hold? I wouldn't want to turn that down even if I wasn't eager to see those trees again!_

The Jarl's laughter was musical. “I thought you might like the idea. The message can wait a time to ensure you've healed, but if you change your mind in a day or two and would rather enjoy my city, I can easily find another courier to take it. You're under no obligations, my friend.” Reads-With-Tail didn't see it that way, but he supposed it was the Jarl's prerogative to inform him of what his duties were and weren't.

“In any event, I must return to the palace and see to my other duties today. Farengar, I'll leave you here if you have any other questions for our young hero. Irileth, thank you as always for your diligent service; I can needle you about your excessive caution some other time.” Smiles caught on three of the four faces in the room. “You, little one, have done a grand service for the people of Whiterun, and perhaps all of Skyrim, and I will not forget it. You will always be welcome in my city.”

With that, the Jarl finally withdrew, releasing Reads-With-Tail's shoulder almost sadly before briskly making for the main door. He halted on the handle, twitching his head at Irileth. She stepped forward to take the boy's hand and gave a quick shake with a little quarter-bow, then retreated as well to see her lord out safely.

The doors opened to a warm white light unblocked by the shade of the temple's pagoda, filling Reads-With-Tail with the urge to scamper around in it. Then the lively light was gone, back to the cool comfort he'd woken up in, and he was alone in the room with Farengar.

 

The wizard wasted little time. “I am surprised the Jarl did not ask this, but where did the dragon arrive from? Which direction?”

 _Riverwood_. Reads-With-Tail gave a sudden shiver at the thought. _But I don't know that._ “I couldn't tell,” he said honestly. “It was almost impossible to see it, between nighttime and all the smoke. Even when it was right in front of me, I could only see the whole thing when it waved the smoke away. But most of the spots of fire were on the north face of the tower and the old wall next to it.”

“Observant, thank you. A shame we did not see where it arrived from at first. Perhaps the guards who survived will know more when they are able to talk again.” Neither his face nor his tone changed, but somehow Reads-With-Tail sensed a little compassion when the guards came up. He revised his opinion of the Court Wizard upwards. “Many of the other questions I could think of will be better answered with a dissection. I must thank you again for killing the beast. No scholar in memory has had such an opportunity presented to them!”

The boy frowned, a thought starting to tug at him, but he couldn't put words to what it was. Especially not with Farengar pressing on like he was. “Can you imagine? The benefits to determining what gave the dragon its mighty armor? You described it like stone. Perhaps we can manufacture something similar, through magic or artifice, to serve as a new building material? I am certain most Nords would look to its value in weapons and armor first, but you do not get to be a Jarl's Court Wizard by stopping at the first idea.”

 _He doesn't get to have someone listen to him often, does he?_ Reads-With-Tail felt a lurch in his gut as he wondered if _he_ sounded as awkward and unaccustomed to society as Farengar did in the long gaps between his visits with Miss Berit and Kennet's travels. “It's part of a living creature though, Master Farengar” he pointed out, wanting to give the poor man a chance at an actual conversation. “Do you think it could be grown without needing an entire live dragon to chisel it from?” _That sounds like a horrible idea for all parties involved._

Farengar genuinely smiled, his eyes confirming a delight that his mouth was unprepared to show. “That is why I need to run my tests on it. And there are many other things that parts of a dragon might be useful for as well. Perhaps there could be some medicinal benefit to their blood, or their saliva or stomach fluids or powdered bone and scale. Does their meat have a nutritional yield suitable for man or beast? The old texts come from a time when dragons were too dominant to ask these sorts of questions, and they have not been seen in Tamriel for literal ages!”

There was one mystery pointedly absent from Farengar's speculation, and it finally jostled Reads-With-Tail's stuck question loose. “Master Farengar?” He held up a palm, asking for time, and the wizard blinked and quieted his excitement. “Do dragons speak?”

The wizard quirked his head like a bird. The pose and his torrent of words made the boy think fondly of Dorthe. “Of course they do, or at any rate they are supposed to. You are a child of Windhelm, I hear.” It was Farengar's turn to hold out a forestalling hand. “Stormcloak or no, I do not particularly care. I merely ask because I assume you know the details of Ulfric's duel with the late High King Torygg.” Reads-With-Tail inhaled to reply, but Farengar swept onward. “Torygg was 'shouted to death,' or perhaps just disarmed and stunned by a sudden wall of force so Ulfric could run him through. I have heard conflicting accounts. The crucial similarity is that burst of magic.”

 _A sudden wall of force..._ The young Argonian had a hunch as to where this was going; the burst of sudden flame on dusty stone bore some similarities to the cursory description of his Jarl's triumph. He stared up at the wizard intently.

“Dragon speech is well documented in the old stories – with a name like yours, I expected you to know. There is a famous monastery in Skyrim devoted to maintaining knowledge of it. The –”

“– Greybeards of High Hrothgar,” they finished in unison. “Jarl Ulfric studied there for a time, didn't he? Before the Great War.” Reads-With-Tail's voice perked up as he asked. He was a little sore over learning there were old Nord stories with a grounding in actual fact that he'd missed all his life, but at least he thought he knew this one.

“I would not know,” Farengar replied. “The dragon tongue is found in other places, especially here in Skyrim. Stone tablets and engraved walls deep in old ruined temples once owned by the cults devoted to the beasts in a bygone age. Perhaps he learned it there, with the aid of some document to permit translation.”

“Then the dragons are intelligent. Not just feral beasts like sabrecats or bears. I felt that, during the fight, but I couldn't know for certain.”

Farengar nodded. “Yes, they certainly appear to be. And so it is more important than the Jarl perhaps realizes that we learn all we can about them.” A grin he probably thought was conspiratorial slid onto his face. “I received word just yesterday that one such stone has been located lately, in a particular nearby temple I suspect you to be familiar with. And since your curiosity and intellect burn brighter than any other hireling I might hope to meet, I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

Sunset painted the golden fields with stripes of pink and purple, delighting Reads-With-Tail's eyes and rejuvenating him after he'd spent the afternoon back in the temple pond. He felt like he could reach out and pet the sunny hillside to the north.

He still felt unsteady without his shirt, but the new snug weight attached to his tail compensated for it a little. Farengar had procured a curious little rig to replace his old cord belt. A strip of well-softened leather cinched around his waist like a normal belt, holding his pants up while the old rope anklets pinned them down. But instead of just circling his waist, the new belt gave way to a network of smaller strips in a tube around his tail. Each strip carried a greased cloth pouch, ringing the root of his tail at an angle just at the edge of easy reach. The pouch that rested across the top, in particular, was large enough to carry a fairly large package. _Which is, of course, exactly what Master Farengar has in mind._

Best of all, once his arm healed fully he'd still have room for a traditional backpack as well. It was an invention even more breathtaking than the boots Alvor had designed. And Miss Ahlam had assured him after the afternoon's healing session that he was almost safe. All he had to do was keep his arm still for another day or so to make sure nothing jostled all her hard work loose. She'd turned him loose on the city after that, citing the need to open the temple back up for any new patients who might be delivered overnight. He had no intention to disobey either order.

Shopkeepers were packing up in the Plains District, the commercial quarter of the city on the low southern slope. With the chilly night wind starting its dance between the buildings, Reads-With-Tail couldn't blame them – _I_ _still find it lovely_ , and he closed his eyes and pressed into the breeze like it was petting him, _but then again I'm from the coast of Eastmarch and don't know any better._

Not everyone was quite gone yet, though. A sprightly little girl perhaps a year or two younger than Dorthe still skipped down the thoroughfare, occasionally stopping the few people still out and waving them in the direction of the outdoor market by the city's bottom well. Her faded green dress was stained, and the overlapping scents of fruit juice told Reads-With-Tail what his eyes could not.

“Fresh fruits and vegetables for sale, traveler! Produce right from the farms every day! Mostly!” The boy had to laugh at that last bit, and she shared in it. _All right, now I feel obligated to see what's still for sale at this hour._

The fruit stand was the only one of three stalls around the well that was still manned. A slightly greying woman with a tired shopkeep's smile bounced her knees a few times as Reads-With-Tail approached, and his own legs spent a brief moment aching in sympathy. “Hello,” he said as he closed, hands low and upturned to seem as nonthreatening as possible. Though with her ramrod spine and slightly sardonic air, he doubted he needed the precaution. _I bet she gets along wonderfully with Miss Ahlam._

“Did Mila find you? A pleasure. Most of my stock's been picked up today, but there are still a few items left. Nothing's more than a day old, I promise you that!”

Reads-With-Tail felt his tongue dart out over his lips repeatedly as he looked over the little rectangular boxes full of produce. There were still a couple of apples, red and green, and a slightly mushy pile of blackberries, and he found himself quite overwhelmed by his daydream. Any one of his options had more volume than everything he'd eaten since leaving home, and it was all sweet _fruit_ too! And with the pay the two warriors had left him in Riverwood – he swung his tail to jingle the coinpurse he'd salvaged from the cart earlier, reminding himself that it wasn't a dream – he could afford it all and still have plenty for lodging and travel food the next morning.

“I'd really rather close tonight, Mila needs to get off her feet and I still have to find something for dinner.” That only jostled the boy partway out of his reverie. He soundlessly pointed at the pair of green apples, twisting around to put the purse in easy reach, once again nearly ruining his balance in the process. “Twelve septims,” she prompted, and he staggered around chasing his tail for a moment as he fished out the gold pieces.

 _Cheap for a couple of fresh apples,_ he mused as he waved goodbye, one apple in his hand and the other already dangling from his mouth. _It makes a difference, having soil instead of permafrost._ He bit into the apple in his mouth properly, tossing it like a wolf with a rabbit, letting the tart sugary juice run into his throat before chomping off fully two fifths of it in one go. _Green apples and red pears taste like pastries all on their own. Sweet, sour, thick, crispy – it's almost a shame I'm not supposed to waste my time with fruit if I want people to think I'm strong. It's like candy, too much of a childish indulgence._

But at least for right now, he was a dragonslayer. A little indulgence could be forgiven for one night. At least he was paying for it himself, though the money was a gift so perhaps it was still too selfish. Squinting, he worked his jaw to spin the apple around, gnawing on the other half until only the gnarled core was left. It found its way into a pile of compost out behind the Bannered Mare, quickly followed by its mate.

Reads-With-Tail leaned back against the log wall, rubbing his stomach, realizing he was craving more. He'd gotten by on scraps for far too long, especially with all the activity he'd gotten up to. And if he was already spending the small fortune from the barrow on himself, he might as well go all the way. It would make the warriors happy to know they wouldn't have to share their jerky with him next time.

The fruit stand was already vacant in the minute it took him to walk back to the front of the inn. Now _there_ were some people who could do with a filling meal! The lady had seemed fairly successful, but he couldn't imagine there was much money in selling fruit to individuals – shipping it in bulk across the frozen Sea of Ghosts to supply entire cities, perhaps, but not on so small a scale. He'd have to stop by again in the morning.

For now, though, he pulled open the heavy pine door to the Bannered Mare and walked into the firelight inside. It wasn't bright enough to stun him, not like waking up in the temple had been, but he still huddled near the entrance after shutting the door as quietly as he could. The inn was small and warmly lit, open and crowded in a way New Gnisis had never been when Miss Berit escorted him in, cozy and personable as opposed to Candlehearth's ancient stoicism. All of those traits ought to have made it inviting, but the young Argonian was too keenly aware of all the eyes suddenly on him to approach the counter.

Except the eyes weren't on him, he realized. A few people – particularly the Nord tavern matron and the Redguard waitress – had looked up, but everyone else was busy with food or with company. It wasn't as reassuring as it could have been; with every step the boy fretted he would draw everyone's ire somehow, but the low chatter around him never ebbed. He wasn't a poor alien in a place he didn't belong, only permitted entry by the gracious request of his partner. He was just a patron. Not even his state of undress drew any attention.

Finally he tiptoed his way to the counter. The matron sized him up with a pitying look, but there was no trace of condescension as she greeted him. “What're you in the mood for? We've got rooms open for ten septims a night, or I can tell you what food we've got for sale tonight.”

He could already smell dinner, but it was so many overlapping scents he couldn't pick out any one. Charred grease and wheat ale were the strongest, of course, drowning out a mix of meats and breads and tangy cheeses. “A room, please, but I think I need to eat something first.”

He paid attention as best he could as she recited the menu, smiling eagerly when she mentioned spice rolls and apple hats, but his mind was mostly focused on securing his purse again without making such a spectacle of it this time. And inevitably, thinking about it that hard only ensured something _had_ to go wrong. He found himself chasing his tail once again, the easy angle somehow so much harder when he actually had to fetch something from it. This time, though, he'd twisted a bit too far, or was too concentrated on moving to let reflex take over, and he found himself falling face-first towards the firepit.

He landed with a bounce, contorting himself in midair to get his good arm more or less in the way and to at least land on the square of his ribcage. It knocked the air out of him, but at least he didn't slide towards the fire, and his splinted arm only rapped the stone floor at the shoulder. _Which is one of the places Miss Ahlam said it was dislocated last night. But it seems alright._ It took a great deal of willpower not to wiggle it experimentally and find out.

Now, though, every eye in the building really was on him. A young Nord strode around the firepit to help him up, and the boy squirmed and twisted to get his good arm into position to take his rescuer's hand. “My name's Mikael,” the man said as he tugged Reads-With-Tail back upright. “Normally, people only fall over after they've been here a while, but I can see why you'd be having trouble as you are.”

 _I know he means my arm, but I really_ want _to take that personally._ _I'm not sure what I feel about that._ All the boy said aloud was a simple but heartfelt “Thank you!” The blonde man hovered nearby in what he seemed to think was an unobtrusive manner, and Reads-With-Tail bade farewell to visions of sweet fennel sausage chased down with a platter of pastries. “May I have a bowl of your pork stew and an ale, please?” _Wonderful. I'm certainly going to impress everyone with my_ warrior diet _when I order it like that_.

Purse finally safely in hand, he counted out the thirty-one septims for his room and meal and passed them to the aging yet stout Nord woman. Hand freed, he wandered to a quiet shady corner beneath the stairs at the back of the building. He folded himself down to sit cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the slightly warm stone and feeling his already pampered body relax even further.

Mikael wandered over after him. “You're not the most sociable, are you? I suppose that's fine, not everyone can be outgoing like I am.” Only the way the man's voice sounded like Kennet's, young and vigorous, kept the tension from squeezing back into the boy's shoulder blades. “Come, only two people here bite and one of them's the maid.” He heaved a sigh more dramatic than Reads-With-Tail himself was capable of. “Alack, not everyone appreciates the talent of the finest bard of Whiterun Hold.”

 _That explains a great deal._ “A bard? Did you attend the college in Solitude?” Though his musical skills had united every race in Windhelm for a shining moment – against him – Reads-With-Tail still had a strong interest in visiting the College someday. It was said they had a grand historical department from which to take inspiration, and _that_ was the sort of place a boy like him could grow old in. Sadly, Solitude was barred to him, as the home of the late High King and command center for the Imperial Legion, but he could hope.

“I, ah, started.” His phrasing was embarrassed; his tone was anything but. “I had to leave earlier than I'd hoped, though. There was a misunderstanding with the headmistress. And her, er, husband.” Yes, Mikael was definitely proud of that.

What Reads-With-Tail couldn't figure out is why the bard thought _he_ would be interested in knowing this. “Can you tell me what it would take to apply someday?” _Anything to jibe this conversation about._

Mikael tossed his head, flipping his hair about. “Keen wit, dashing good looks, and a love for the most unreachable things in the world.” _Why do I doubt he means something like “truth” or “beauty” there?_ “I'm afraid you'd face stiff competition, my friend! Though I see you already carry yourself the right way.” He clapped the boy on his good shoulder, the same place Jarl Balgruuf had held that morning, but while his touch was softened by rabbit-fur gloves there was an unexpected strength to his grip.

“Let me give you some advice, friend to friend,” he said, voice lowered. “If you want to come in dressed like that, you'll get nowhere with delicate 'pleases' and 'thank yous.' In fact, you'll get nowhere with those most times anyway. Ladies look for something stronger, bolder, more shocking.” He shook his hair again.

Reads-With-Tail pressed himself deeper into his corner, a motion Mikael probably couldn't pick up on even if he could see beyond his narcissism, but at least it pressed some of the frustration out of his neck. _How do I get out of this?_

“The same applies to gentlemen, I'm sure, though I haven't felt an urge to dabble,” the man carried on. “Nobody can resist a good jig, and a sonnet once they're alone. Why, if I can get Carlotta or Saadia to myself for an evening – speak of!”

The Redguard waitress burrowed up under his elbow with a small tray, keeping a bread bowl and little pewter tin balanced perfectly as she tossed the bard aside. “Why don't you go earn your pay for the night, Mikael?” There were thorns in her voice that even he couldn't stay oblivious to. “And for you,” she made to hand Reads-With-Tail the bowl first, but changed her mind at the sight of his splint. “I'll need that platter back when you're through. Come find me to hand it back over and I can lead you to your room.”

“Ah, darling Saadia, you –” Mikael didn't sound like he had a complete thought in mind, and she cut him off before he could find one.

“You wouldn't want me to tell mum you've been slacking, would you? That bedroom is only free so long as you keep the good folk of this town happy.”

“You – you wouldn't!" But he left the two of them alone anyway, walking out of sight past some of the other diners. Reads-With-Tail wasn't sure he wanted the man to find his instrument.

“Thanks,” the boy said softly.

She nodded to him. “I figured he'd be busy scaring you off. Probably took one look at your bare chest and feared for his conquests, or whatever it is men like him spend their time doing.” Her voice was drier than even Ahlam's, unrestrained by even the least amount of fondness. “Enjoy your meal. If anyone bothers you again, flag one of us down, but I suspect the rest of them are too deep in their cups to be an issue.” She bustled off, leaving the little Argonian alone with his food.

The stew was an experience. He couldn't remember ever having an excuse to eat anything so grand before – Miss Berit had always treated him to exotic Dunmer foods, most of them sweets, at New Gnisis and her own home. The meat had obviously simmered for longer than he'd been awake. There was no fat or gristle to be felt in any of the cubes of flour-dusted meat, and Bravilic allspice and Leyawiin white pepper saturated every fiber of it. The broth was thin, little more than sweat from the ingredients, and most of it had already soaked into the walls of the twice-baked boule. He had no chance of finishing the entire thing, especially the bread, but his obligation carried a greater weight than his appetite or his comfort.

The ale, meanwhile... _I'm incredibly grateful that they saw through me enough to bring such a small mug of it._ It was the drink of Nord warriors, second only to mead, and he wasn't in any rush to spend extra for that. Unfortunately, even the best of it he'd had the chance to experience tasted mostly of mold and seared holes through his throat. If nobody had been looking, he'd have taken milk or at least cider or something that at least tasted like moldy _fruit_ instead, but he just had to trip over his tail in plain view of the entire common room. He braced himself and tossed the entire mug back, getting it out of the way so he could bury the taste under beef stew.

His vision blurred over as his chest spasmed, every part of his body not involved with actually drinking the stuff fighting to resist it. Somehow he knew Mikael was watching him wheeze his life away in the corner.

The thought gave him pause. Through his fluttering breaths, he could hear a fairly familiar tune – there was a lute underneath it somewhere, but mostly he just heard Mikael's voice. For all his faults, the man had genuine talent. “Never, never, never, never won fair lady! While the sun shines make your hay; where a will is there's a way...” The boy blocked it out again and focused on his food. _I should have known he'd choose something like If You Go In._ _The sad thing is, it's a fun song, especially with the chorus it's meant to have. But I'm never going to be able to get his behavior out of my memory now._

His appetite was failing him rapidly; he swore he already felt his stomach trying to push out of his scales and he wasn't even halfway through! Duty or no, he simply couldn't bring himself to keep spooning it out. Uncurling his legs, he rose cautiously and trotted out of the quiet corner. He passed the bard on his way towards the kitchen and Saadia, but Mikael didn't even seem to notice him this time. Thanking the Divines generally and sober Julianos specifically that the ale hadn't washed away his legs yet, he ducked out of the main room and proffered his tray to the waitress.

Saadia wasted no time, just took the mug and platter away and handed him back the bowl just in case. She beckoned him up a ladder staircase behind the kitchen and he followed, grateful she wasn't asking him to talk. Mikael had fried his speaking brain in oil.

“Better luck tomorrow,” she wished him cryptically as she unlatched a loft door and ushered him in. He stepped through, settled his bowl on the room's low dresser, and flopped down facefirst on the bed. He wrapped his good hand under his overstuffed belly, evened out his chin on the feather pillow, and waited for sleep to catch him _I haven't had a mattress and a sheet since Miss Berit went to the College._

It was the College of Magi in Winterhold, not the Bard's College in Solitude, but the word alone dragged his drowsy thoughts back to Mikael one last time. _Am I really supposed to be like him? If I want to prove Argonians can be just like Nords, that we deserve for King Ulfric to keep us around when he wins the war, do I need to act like_ that _? I...I don't want to sacrifice everyone's future for my personal tastes – like with the ale just now – but what future would it be if we all acted like him?_

_I just don't think I want to._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mikael's song at the end is "If You Go In" from the Gilbert&Sullivan play "Iolanthe." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A4KyqXhAO5c Not a canon Skyrim song, but it's pretty evident we don't hear anything close to even his repertoire, and this is absolutely a set of lyrics he'd use to reinforce his point (and make himself feel better about being less naturally charming than a skittish teenage lizard).


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, Mikael the bard comes in for some honestly excessive bashing here. Reader really came in at a very bad time in the man's life, and the kid's own neuroses dovetail with Mikael's behavior too well for me to pass up.

Free of his splint at last, Reads-With-Tail frowned as he shrugged his way into his shirt. _I saved for this for years. It shouldn't be this underwhelming._ But spending a day without it made it clear how hard-worn the faithful garment was. Too much water had soaked it over the years, seaspray from Windhelm and snowmelt from Bleak Falls and just droplets from when he hadn't dried off properly after a swim. The threads were still woven tight, but they were obviously starting to sag and part. The uneven patches of cool air and warm pressure on his scales were about to drive him mad. _And yet I never noticed them when I just...wore it._

 _Really, I think it only stands out because it's so much chillier than yesterday,_ he reassured himself. The sun that had invigorated him when he walked the streets yesterday was nowhere to be seen. In its place was high silver overcast and a blustery wind hooking across Whiterun's terraces from the west. There was a distant stormcloud on the western horizon too, spanning the entire lowlands from one mountain range to the other, its roiling streamers of rain already just barely visible.

Reads-With-Tail shivered. _I need to hurry up, then. If that gets here before I'm south of the peaks again it's going to be a miserable hike._ He could think of few deaths worse than braving mountain snow with his scales already drenched.

He stretched out hard, giving a long yawn as his chest fluffed out and the leftover stew he'd finished for breakfast prodded at his too-small stomach. Then the boy set off for the steps to the palace with his arms still over his head. Priestess Danica was already out ahead of him, puttering around the Gildergreen in the upper plaza. The tree was a symbol of Kynareth, but it had aged too long or caught a blight somewhere and was now just a withered leafless skeleton in the wind. Still, flowers of all sorts grew around its roots, and crystal spring water fed it from a circular channel that lapped against the flagstones of the walking path. If it was passing, it wasn't rotting the land around it. Maybe it was even feeding it. Priestess Danica didn't see it the same way, and her opinion was the one that mattered, but for his part Reads-With-Tail found the plaza welcoming even as its centerpiece died.

He exchanged a smile and a nod with his caretaker as he traced the shallow stream up towards the Jarl's palace. It flowed through a tiny marble-framed culvert beneath the path, fed by two steeply sloped channels that bracketed the first flight of well-maintained basalt stairs. The boy's tail twinged urgently as he trotted up along a short bridge across the pool that fed them. _No, no, you don't get to swim here,_ he sternly reminded his extremities. _This is drinking water, and a showpiece besides. It's not a bathtub for a great filthy lizard!_

By the time he neared the top of the stairway just a minute or so later, he was already making plans to drink the pool dry on his return. The Jarl clearly didn't need fortifications; any invader would pass out gasping halfway up if they had to make this climb in armor! There was arguably room for two people to pass one another, at least as long as one of them was as scrawny as he was, and no way to go around or even step aside without slipping on the ropey cliffs of shimmering black rock. Fortunately nobody else was using the stairs at the moment, because with his tools and shield and new tail-pack weighing him down Reads-With-Tail doubted he would survive having to turn back around and start the climb over again to make way.

At length he reached the surprisingly humble double door, barely any taller or more ornate than he would expect on a common home despite the palace towering easily fifteen times that height and sloping up still higher towards the back. As the little Argonian stared up wide-eyed, one of the two door guards halted him. “Reads-With-Tail, aye? Secret-Fire wants to speak with you about your assignment in person. I'll fetch him.”

The boy couldn't help but sneak a glance inside as the soldier opened the door. The palace was immense, with firelight somewhere just above eye level casting red and gold shadows all around. It was hard to get an impression of any details beyond that, his eyes simply couldn't adjust in time, but it gave off an aura of warmth instead of the cold grandeur of Windhelm's old quarter. _I don't think I'll mind returning here to deliver Master Farengar's tablet._

With little else to do but wait, he turned around and looked out across the landscape. The top sixth or so of the stairs were covered, blocking some of his view without keeping any of the wind off, but he could still see a great distance out under them. Indeed, not being able to see the peaks of the Bravil range or Bleak Falls or the Throat of the World made them even more astonishing, just great masses of contoured ridges and cliffs and foothills that filled the entire horizon. Even at more than a day's hike away, he could make out individual trees and boulders in places. It felt so close he could reach out and stroke it, and he pawed the air reservedly in a brief attempt to do exactly that.

_Somehow, mountains like these don't make me feel small. Just...part of the world. They make me want to walk those slopes and clamber on those boulders and sleep under those trees._ The boy sighed, letting his eyes drink in every detail endlessly while his mind carried him there. Even as he shivered in the wind on this far less lofty hilltop, he imagined walking in calm warm sun without feeling the bite of snow and sharp rocks. It was simply so much easier to wander in the safety of his imagination than it would be to make the hike in the flesh – but he had to admit he was tempted.

After a time the door swung open again, hinges oiled to such perfect silence that only the draft of warm air could alert Reads-With-Tail and the other guard. “Ah. I see you did not wander off,” Farengar said by way of preamble.  _I'm not sure how insulted I'm expected to feel._ “That already places you in higher standing than the last adventurers Jarl Balgruuf assigned to me.”  _Not insulted at all, then._ “I will make this brief, as the Jarl and I both wish you to be off about your tasks. My source, the person who informed me of the probable existence of Draconic text in the heart of Bleak Falls Barrow, has warned me that a door deep within it will require a certain key. There is no known way to circumvent such doors except with their keys, no exposed locking mechanism or seams to burst apart. The warriors you met there previously have unknowingly made our job somewhat more difficult.”

Reads-With-Tail squinted. “Wait. It's not that golden dragon's claw sculpture we recovered, is it?” He shuddered, completely unprompted by the breeze.  _I'd...hoped I wouldn't have to pass through Riverwood again when I heard I was going back to Bleak Falls._

“Exactly.” The wizard's expressions didn't usually change the way Reads-With-Tail expected them to, but he was wearing a perfectly appropriate frown right now. “After learning of the need for that bauble, I petitioned the Jarl to sign a requisition order. Enclosed along with that order are one hundred septims in coin and two unique promissory notes. The first permits the owner of the claw to withdraw four hundred more from our treasury at any time, or any series of times, to cover his losses from your original mercenary contract.”

It hadn't exactly been a contract, but that seemed eminently fair. Four hundred and fifty septims would be a hard loss to swallow for a small sundry store, and he'd paid it eagerly to have the claw back. Repaying that with a token amount of interest was a natural first step – and leaving Whiterun in his debt could be just as powerful a symbol as actually having the money. But that was only one of the two notes. Reads-With-Tail wondered what else the shrewd wizard had thought of.

“The second is valued at seven hundred and fifty additional septims, but delivery is conditional.” Farengar fixed him with a bland yet painful stare, and Reads-With-Tail forced himself to meet it. “Should you die or otherwise fail to return his item, he will be insured against the loss. Steward Avenicci asked me personally to instruct you not to die. That is, frankly, money we would desperately prefer to keep as a gesture rather than a debt. Not least because I would then need to contract another adventurer to finish your task, and with great haste!”

For some reason the man grinned entirely earnestly at the prospect, and Reads-With-Tail found himself grinning back. “I can only promise my best, Master Farengar,” he said with a tiny yet sincere bow.

“And I suspect that it will do. You have shown enough curiosity and awareness to succeed where the usual 'mighty warriors' incessantly fall short. I have nothing else I can freely offer to ensure your success, unfortunately, but I will eagerly await your return.”

Farengar produced two bloated envelopes from behind his back – the boy hadn't even realized he'd never shown his hands during their entire conversation. “It should go without saying that you cannot get either of these wet. The pouches I provided for you are woven tight and oiled, so that should hopefully not be an issue, but be careful with them all the same.” He waved one of the two envelopes, showing a bulge that looked curiously like a glass bottle. “I must also instruct you to leave the Jarl's missive behind in Riverwood should you attempt the barrow first. He assures me it is less urgent than my assignment, merely a courtesy for Jarl Siddgeir, but nevertheless it needs to arrive there within the next few days. Jarl's eyes only, naturally.”

“Naturally,” Reads-With-Tail agreed promptly. “I know Master Alvor can be trusted, and he deals with travelers fairly frequently, so if need be he can send it along. Speaking of sending things along,” he added as the thought struck him, “would you prefer I find a courier for the dragon-writing or wait until I can return it in person?”

The wizard stroked his chin with his free fingers. “I would much enjoy your personal report on what you encounter in the barrow, but I believe I can study the text without immediate input. I communicate with the owner of the Sleeping Dragon Inn on occasion.” His words hurried out, bustling along as quickly as possible. “Leave the stone with the innkeeper or landlady and they will forward it to me as soon as possible. If it should happen that you are the first available messenger, I suppose I will have to wait, but I suspect it will not be a problem.”

“Very good, sir,” Reads-With-Tail nodded. “Do you have any other instructions for me?”

“None that I can think of. Though I must say before you leave, I remain impressed with your conscientiousness. I have been forced to deal with brutes and glory hunters for too long; it is refreshing to work with a hireling with a mind.” Farengar was smiling with a warmth his face clearly didn't quite recognize. “Perhaps you might have some aptitude for the arcane arts, if I have a moment to give an introductory lesson upon your return?”

The little Argonian tried not to flinch at the idea of becoming a  _mage_ . Of course a few spells would be useful, especially Restoration magic, and Master Farengar's generosity was deeply humbling. But all the same, Kennet would never take him seriously again if he came home a spellcaster, and he suspected the same would go for many of the Argonians at the Assemblage and most of the Stormcloaks who watched them. “I...thank you, sir, truly,” he eventually answered. “But I do not expect that I have any capacity for magic. Nothing has ever manifested, at least.” It was true, and the wizard declined to press him on it. But something in his eye told Reads-With-Tail that he understood what the boy was really saying, and that he disapproved.

“Very well, off with you then. I have taken too much time here as it is, with the dragon to examine and all! The Jarl may not have seemed it yesterday, but he is not a patient man, and neither am I.”  _That sounded blatantly forced even to me, but even if it's just meant to motivate me I shouldn't stand around disregarding it!_

“Thank you for your time then, Master Farengar. And, again, for your offer.” Reads-With-Tail hopped up to grab the two envelopes, blinking at their surprising weight. “I'll try my hardest not to keep you or the Jarl waiting.”

Farengar nodded and ducked back into the palace at last. The boy twisted around to tuck his precious cargo into the largest pouch, the only one that could  _fit_ their bulky contents. Then, with a long bracing breath, he started off down the stairs.

 

Reads-With-Tail had barely cleared the awning when he started to hear raised voices from below. Anything that could carry through the wind up here had to be important, so he took the stairs three and four at a time to find out what was wrong.

Though the distance fell away quickly, his heart hammered in his ears too loudly to catch any details until he was already on the bridge over the wellspring. He'd registered Danica's snowfall-thick Falkreath accent, but whoever was shouting over her was new to him.  _I almost wish it could stay that way. But if someone's giving Priestess Danica trouble I can at least try to intervene!_

He leaped down the last set of stairs, landing in a full-on sprint that nearly slammed his snout into the Gildergreen. Arms windmilling, he caught his balance and slowed to a safe halt before that, but there was a stiff black branch unsettlingly close to his left eye. Slowly he stepped back, turning his head only once he was sure it was safe. Priestess Danica was standing under an old bronze statue of Talos, Dragonslayer, arguing with a man in a monk's hood. Even from so far away Reads-With-Tail could see his veins bulging on his scarred and emaciated hands.

“Your opinions are noted,” she told him, still yelling but clearly trying to get some control of her temper back. “But I still don't see how a man as loyal to the Ninth as you are could consider that Talos of all gods would want to sabotage Kynareth out of petty jealousy!”

“No! Of course you can't see!” The monk's ragged voice seemed to echo down off of the sky itself –  _he's certainly pointing his head like the sky's all that can hear him, anyway_ . “You, you and our weak Jarl and all the rest of the Empire, you suckle at the elves'  _teat_ without a thought for what your betrayal might cost the god who gave his all for you! He sends his signs to warn us, but soon he will send his warriors to reclaim what ought ever have been his.”

“His...warriors?” The priestess sounded as baffled as Reads-With-Tail felt.  _“_ If you mean the Stormcloaks, I'll bind their wounds as I would anyone else's. Just as Kynareth, Julianos,  _and Talos_ all command.”

“But that doesn't sound like how even the Stormcloak chaplains preach,” Reads-With-Tail mused aloud. “They refuse the Empire's right to enforce the Thalmor's laws on us, but they don't talk about reclaiming Skyrim  _for_ Talos. Just about letting everyone they know never agreed to forget him go back to worshiping in peace.”

Despite his rapturous expression, the monk quickly twisted around to drag him into the conversation. Danica shot him a look of concern, but it was too late to back away. “No, I do not speak of the fallible men of the east. Perhaps their faith is true, perhaps it is just a guise for power in this world. Talos' heralds will decide!”  _There's that idea again. Who is he talking about?_ “Once he loved all the world eagerly, and Man above all, but not even the Divine can accept such naked betrayal. His warriors will show us who few remain worthy of his grace!”

“You don't seem to believe in his love as firmly as you tell us, Heimskr,” Danica answered while Reads-With-Tail was still putting his thoughts together. Her voice had gone terrifyingly quiet. “Don't you normally go on about how Talos has love enough for all, even as we wallow in our own filth like worms, or whatever your sermon usually says?”

Her venom helped crystallize the boy's own thoughts. He breathed a quick prayer of thanks for Jarl Ulfric inviting the Argonians in for temple services and for Miss Berit playing at theology with him. “The Divines never demand worship, do they? They accept it with fondness, happy we recognize and respect all they do for us, but they shaped and reshaped the world long before there were mortals to see it happen. They – all of them, and Talos above all – do so much for the joy of creation. And if you're suggesting that Talos would have murdered Kynareth's symbol just because she was better-praised than he is, well...” He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat.

His city and the people he served worshiped Talos openly despite the prohibition, and this man's tortured view of their god was an attack on all of them. They'd never forgive him for not standing up for them. “You don't know Talos at all.” He was choking on his hurt and disbelief, his self-righteousness and self-pity both telling him to turn on his heel and storm off, but he couldn't just run from his words. He had to give the man a chance to answer. To judge him. To condemn him.  _Why did I even start talking?_

“I see you two are alike in your blindness,” the monk howled. “The loss of an icon for a goddess who already has all she needs is a warning, sent in the  _loving_ hope that someone would see! But the time for such generosity has run its course. You've both seen it, I'm sure, the first dragon of many wheeled up to the Jarl's palace in defiance of its sacred purpose! We resist Talos' servants out of vanity alone, when we should  _submit_ to their judgment and accept our punishment for our treason.”

“I've heard enough,” Danica replied curtly. She took Reads-With-Tail by his shoulders and began to walk him away, and the boy was too lost in his head to protest. “I would rather pray for the Ninth's mercy than betray all of his people to the Thalmor. And if I were you I would think on how badly we could possibly have 'betrayed' him when you can still preach in front of his shrine every day unless there's a Thalmor officer in the square. I have a temple to run, and we can do without your threats for an hour, eh?”

“Go then and enjoy the days you steal for yourselves! I'm sure Kynareth will understand when her temple burns in Talos' vengeful flame!”

She didn't give him so much as a toss of her head as acknowledgment. She just steered Reads-With-Tail away, back towards the airy temple and the homes and mansions that cradled it. “You alright, lad?” she asked under her breath after they'd put enough distance between them and the zealot. The boy shook his head and didn't know why. “He's even more distressed than usual. Sadly, he seems to think the way to deal with that is to...oh, not  _now_ , you two!” He heard her voice quivering with the effort it took not to scream.

“Danica, what a relief.” A Redguard woman with candleworn eyes waved the pair over. “Help me convince my husband –”

“This the sword again? What more would you have me say at this point?”

Her husband, a Redguard himself with a studded armor skirt draped incongruously over a common cloth tunic, waved his hands in protest. “I found the hideout, ma'am.” His voice was as mismatched as his clothes, high and clear and almost boyish despite clearly being more than twice Reads-With-Tail's age. “I'm so close – it would take more money than I know I can afford, but I can get the sword back and my father can rest again.”

_Ah. An ancestral weapon. It's a very Nord thing to care about._ Absently, Reads-With-Tail wondered if someday someone would want to hang his pick or shield in a place of honor – it was an awkward and foreign thought, but better than fearing divine retribution. “Do you know what these thieves are like? If they came into Whiterun to take your sword, or if they attacked you on the road and stole it, it seems like something the Jarl should know about.”

“It was, ah, the second one,” he said, hand behind his head awkwardly. “And I already asked. When I found their hideout I even told them about that too. But with the war and the dragon and everything, a crew of eight highwaymen is low on the guard's list of priorities. If I could hire the Companions – yes, Saffir, I know they're too expensive, I'm not planning to – or even two good adventurers, we could handle it ourselves.”

Everyone recoiled from the fire in Saffir's eyes. “I will not let you starve our daughter over a trinket. Amren, I'm sorry, I know how much your father's legacy matters to you, but there're living people to care about before you can kill yourself over the dead.” Her expression softened for a moment, then turned even sharper than before. “I'll put it to you plainly. You can find your sword, or you can keep your wife. If you set one foot outside the gates, I won't be here when you return.”

Pain rolled off of both of them in ocean waves. Reads-With-Tail felt them battering him under, felt himself sinking in ice and brine. “What if I – or, someone – found the sword for you? You wouldn't have to pay, wouldn't owe money for their travel or sentry time, and you could be safe here. Nobody would be in danger – maybe not even the thieves, you never know!” He stamped on a fantasy of sneaking over a palisade wall and liberating the sword while the entire bandit crew snored off a drunken party.

Amren looked at him pityingly. “I'm honored that you'd offer, but I can't ask that of a passing friend. No, Saffir's right,” he admitted, “my place is here. I gave up the soldiering life when I met her and we had our little girl, and it's not my place to take that away from them.”

“I'm sorry, love,” Saffir said. “I honestly do understand what I'm asking you to give up here, and if times change and we can afford it I'll be behind you all the way. But if you leave your daughter to starve over a piece of metal, it's over.”

He nodded, tears in his eyes. “Of course. Thank you, priestess, young man, I'm glad you were here now. I needed a little extra shake, I suppose.”

Priestess Danica wheeled Reads-With-Tail aside again, but only a few steps. “That was well handled. Perhaps you'd be a good fit in my job someday,” she whispered, making him cringe at the unexpected praise.

“If you'd like, young man, I was off to the Huntsman before we had our conversation,” Saffir offered. “Braith normally likes to come too, but the brothers who run it have asked me to keep her away for a few weeks. If you expect to be traveling – or  _adventuring_ ,” she forced out the word with distaste, “it's a better spot than any to get trail food. And if you're here for a while, it's a fine grocery for meats and sweets.”

“That it is,” Amren confirmed. “We met there, in fact, almost a decade and it's still as fine as ever.”

“The prices are always going up though,” Priestess Danica added dryly, and all three of them laughed.

Reads-With-Tail shrugged. “I was going to stock up for a trip out to Falkreath, actually. If you're actually on your way, I could use someone to show me around.”

“Then it's settled. Danica, thank you so much for your patience – I hope you didn't have plans for this gentleman!” The priestess spread her arms with a dramatic wrist-flick, handing the boy over to Saffir. “I was worried I wouldn't be able to breathe all day when we started yelling there. Now, at least I'll choke on meat smoke instead of anxiety, and I'll take that any day!”

 

The Drunken Huntsman was a curious establishment. The smell of slow-roasting and jerked meat carried most of the way up the hill to the Bannered Mare, but the Bosmer proprietor seemed to pride himself just as much on large and fancy permanent lodging as on his brother's hunting and his own cooking. Still, just as promised the place carried a wide range of trail food and other supplies for aspiring hunters, and while Reads-With-Tail had no use for arrows he knew he wanted to go on  _this_ journey much better provisioned than when he'd left Windhelm less than two weeks before. A second, larger waterskin was probably in order too.

But he couldn't keep his eyes off of the little display of candied fruit, little slivers of lemon and lime boiled down almost into jelly and given structure again by coarse-grain sugar. He could already taste the juices running down his throat, slaking his thirst without wasting precious water. And... _this is on sale in a hunting lodge. This is marketed to woodsmen and trappers and even monster slayers. Surely nobody will shame me for buying a few samples?_

He already knew the answer to that –  _I will_ . He looked around for Saffir, who'd introduced him to the store and then promptly vanished into it. When he didn't see her, he counted out eight fruit wedges with such brash confidence that anyone watching would have known in an instant how afraid and ashamed he was. Still, the mix of salt fish, travel soup, dried hare, and venison jerky ought to cover his actual needs for a good long while anyway, and he had some money left over to indulge a bit. Not enough to get an overcoat for his upcoming dash up the mountain, but at least enough to give himself a treat for surviving it.

He paid just a little attention to the door opening and closing behind him. It had happened plenty of times as he picked out his rations, and he actually found himself reveling in the sense of being simply another shopper instead of a complete outsider. But, just as it had when he'd thought the same thing last night, an all-too-familiar voice cut into the quiet atmosphere.  _No. No, I've already been through two arguments just this morning! Not him! Talos...if I can still ask you for anything...don't let it be him! I'm so sorry if I've let you down. I..._

Fortunately, a much more immediate annoyance swept him out of his flagellation. “Ah, Saffir, resplendent as always. I must once again profess my grief that Amren caught you before I.”

The Redguard didn't deign to greet her accoster by name. “I paid you to never mention that again.”

Mikael spun around in a magnificent pantomime of a mortal wound. “Ah, it is but the truth. I hadn't hoped to find you here tonight; I thought perhaps you might care to discuss poetry?”

_In a grocery?_ Reads-With-Tail took great care to ensure he only snorted internally.

Saffir didn't need to worry about restraining hers. “Mikael, finish another line of that sonnet you tried last week and the guard will never find the body.”

“I'll hide it myself,” the Bosmer shopkeep cheerily offered.

Suddenly the little Argonian's frown had to do with something far more personal than the obnoxious bard.  _I know what they're getting at, but...I'd want to discuss poetry if someone felt like it. Well, probably short stories or myths unless they have a sample handy, never had a head for the rules that go into poetry. Maybe we could even just talk about the rules themselves! Would that be just as bad?_

He was afraid he already knew the answer.

“Some other day, then.” Mikael was smiling too hard and Reads-With-Tail didn't like it. “I'm sure you know well how flexible vows can be when faced with true companionship.”

“I think I've read this book, Mikael. None of them end well for the bard.”

He shrugged in something that might pass for acknowledgment. “Lime peel, eh?” he said in a stage voice, and it took Reads-With-Tail a minute to realize the bard had started talking to him with no preamble.  _Why do you have to call it out to all Tamriel?_ “A lot of Nords out there will tell you that candy and milk are there to make weak children weaker, but I've never found that to be the case. A good sweet tooth opens  _doors_ , my friend!”

“Doors?” Reads-With-Tail absolutely didn't follow.

“Doors. Ladies – or gentlemen, like I said last night I shouldn't assume – love it when a man knows his way around cuisine. Trust me, the people who don't at least secretly appreciate a little candy and milk and sweet tea in their lives are people you're best off leaving behind! They'll say they only respect you when you eat your meat and potatoes, but it takes a certain bundle of insecurities to mean it. And then there are people like sweet Saffir, who I know has sacrificed so many of  _her_ favorite treats because her daughter's in that stage right now.”

Saffir's growl would have won over a wolfpack. It certainly worked on Reads-With-Tail. But Mikael seemed to sense something else in the air besides what he was meant to.

“But that doesn't mean she doesn't indulge in  _secret_ , now, does it? Just like you obviously do. Yes, you!” He wheeled on the Argonian, his musing tone leaping to a shocking snarl. “Don't think I don't know your game. You come into town as pitiful as you can, getting all the good ladies of the temple to lay on hands, then you strut about the public square showing off your body, and then you act as cute and clumsy as you can so that I slow down and give you pointers. Well, my charity stops now!”

The shopkeeper had come out from behind the counter. “Mikael, you're shaking. I  _strongly suggest_ that you take a walk.” He drummed his fingers on his hip, ostentatiously just above the hilt of a hulking falchion Reads-With-Tail had only just noticed. “Leave me a list and I'll bring whatever you came here for up to Hulda for you.”

The bard blinked, flinching back a hair as his cheeks became a little less flushed. “I...yes, of course. I'm so sorry, Elrindir, Saffir. I can't say what came over me.” Saffir muttered something awfully like  _can't or shouldn't?_ into her palm. “I had mostly aimed to browse. I'll be back later, or I might just stop by your brother's stand. Good day!” He had fully recovered his air of benign foolery by the time he closed the door behind him.

“Well, that happened,” Elrindir observed as he returned to his counter. “I'm sorry you had to deal with him.”

Reads-With-Tail quirked his head, eyes closed. “Is he well?”

“Truth be told I've never seen him like that,” the elf said. “He doesn't get angry when he gets jealous, he just never takes the hint.”

“I think I've seen something like this, actually,” Saffir offered. “When Jon Battle-Born came out with that ballad about the Grey-Manes. He's fine with losing the war, but losing each battle rankles.”

Elrindir nodded. “Still, I think he might need to seek help. That seemed like it was about more than just our young friend here. Speaking of whom!” He turned his full attention back to Reads-With-Tail's pile, which the boy had nearly forgotten about himself. “I'll toss in an extra few slices of peel for the trouble. Are you ready, or do you need a few minutes to bounce back from all that?”

“No, I...” The little Argonian's eyes were unfocused when he finally opened them again. “I think this is all. Let me find my purse.” He counted out the fee absently, took the greased bags Elrindir had tied for him, and walked out without even protesting the shopkeeper's gift.

As soon as he was outside he sagged against the store's corner pillar. His breath had dashed away from him and his lungs were too weak to catch it.  _Everyone despises him; even I started to when we met last night. And he keeps trying to do things that could just be friendly when everyone already thinks that of him. That just makes things worse. He's mocked to his face and then more behind his back for writing poems for someone he knows is a reader. But because he's someone everyone knows to hate, it's impossible for us to see what he might think is just nice as anything but aggressive. What does that mean they think about me?_

_What does that mean about me?_

_What about me?_

_What about me?_

The thought echoed louder each time, drowning out any distractions from the question but also smothering the answer. He couldn't hear the wind anymore, couldn't hear birdsong or street chatter or Miss Avenicci at her anvil not twenty paces away. It was just the one raw question, surging along with his breath and his heartbeat.

Until suddenly there  _was_ a sound loud and shrill enough to cut through. “Hey! Hey mister!”  _She's the little girl from yesterday evening, isn't she?_ Reads-With-Tail pushed himself flat up against the Drunken Huntsman, clearing as much space for the fruit-seller to skip past as he could.  _I can't be like him. I can't! I_ won't _!_

But the girl was here for him anyway. And she wasn't skipping. She was pale underneath her suntan, her eyes dark and serious. “You shopped with mama last night, right? I think she needs a witness.”

“A witness?”  _That's an unhappy word._ He knew he should keep his distance and not make things worse,  _I was literally just hyperventilating over that_ , but his body was smarter than his mind and he was already halfway up the hill to the market square before the voice in his head stopped sputtering. Elrindir's twin followed after them with a look of concern.

To his unfortunate lack of surprise, Mikael was at Carlotta's stand, his breakdown of minutes before clearly galloping out of anyone's control. “What do I have to do for you? Obviously my income and yours and everyone else I win over will feed Mila better than your apple cart ever will!”

“That's not what I mean when I say 'you won't come between us,'” Carlotta answered with none of the bard's theatrics. The elderly woman at the opposite stall nodded from where Mikael couldn't see her, while a dark-haired young lady squeezed an awning pole hard enough Reads-With-Tail expected it to splinter. “I don't want another man now. Not you, not the Jarl himself.”

Mikael was spinning in place, milking the sky like a giant cow. And, inevitably, he saw Reads-With-Tail standing next to Mila. His face went wine-red. “But obviously you'll take  _him_ , right? How! How are you such a masterful actor?” The boy couldn't tell if there was actually anger in the words.  _It all just sounds like hurt._

“Mila, I thought you were going to get the guard. You don't want to be here for this, little fairy.”

“Yes I  _do_ , mama! And this is better than any guard. He's the dragonslayer! I saw them walk him up past our house to Kynareth!”

_Oh no._

The dark-haired lady across the plaza started to walk forward, stopping at the well to leave Mikael plenty of room to breathe. “Is that...how could I...” The bard was mumbling to himself now, but his stage voice was too well-practiced for him to turn it off. His thoughts were visibly running too fast for him to hear them, and it filled Reads-With-Tail with a rush of empathy.

For his part, the little Argonian edged away from Mila, terror congealing his breath at the bottom of his throat in a way no amount of empathy could melt.  _She thinks_ I  _did...I mean, I suppose she's right, but she wants_ me _to save this? How? Her mama obviously doesn't; what if she thinks I'm doing something to Mila like Mikael's doing to her?_ He'd barely managed to catch his breath since leaving the hunting lodge, and his chest was once more leaping uncontrollably. Elrindir's brother stepped in between them casually, dropping an axe on the neck of Reads-With-Tail's panic, but its tendrils still thrashed out of every vein.

_What did Saffir say? She paid him off to try to make him stop courting her? I still have eighteen septims, maybe it's enough..._

But it seemed like he wouldn't have to. “ _Please_ .” Mikael's bombast had finally bled out; his voice drew much more attention for being muted. “This is supposed to work. This was supposed to work. I'm sorry, Carlotta, I've been...I don't know  _what_ I've been.”

“Mikael,” the lady finally said. “Come with me. I'll walk you to the temple and go get some boiled cremes from Hulda after. Just lie down and we can talk about where you've been and where you want to be.”

“ _Thank you._ ” Reads-With-Tail could never have imagined that Mikael's voice could be so mousy underneath it all. The pair walked off up the steps to the Gildergreen slowly, the woman leading him like a wounded child, and the entire plaza seemed to come out from under a cloud.

_I need to ask if she's all right. But if I do, right now, right after that, she'll think I'm..._

_No. Forget that._ He snarled at his mental voice with more anger than he thought he had in him.  _I'm helping. This is partially my fault to begin with anyway!_

The boy scurried up to Carlotta's counter, noticing some of the others gravitating towards her now too. “Are you all right, ma'am?” His voice was high and childlike, breathy with panic rather than acting but still as far from flirtatious as he thought he could get.

“Sure, 'dragonslayer.'” There was more venom in the word than in the barrow spider's whole body.  _What did I do wrong? Is it that I didn't do_ anything _until now?_ “It's not the first time he's tried. First time he's tried to sob at me though.”

“Ysolde's got him in good hands,” the old lady from what he finally saw was a jewelry stand said. “The girl's got a penchant for big dreams and bigger clean-up projects. Hah!”

“And the pocket change to keep him afloat until he gets over himself,” the Bosmer added quietly. “Maybe being taken in on someone else's terms when he can't protest will finally shake him out of all this.”

Carlotta rolled her eyes. “From your tongue to Mara's ears. I'm sorry you were here for so much of that, little dancer.”

Mila walked up to her mother, standing shoulder to shoulder with the young Argonian. “I couldn't leave you like that for long. And I brought help, just like I said!”

“Help.”  _She definitely doesn't like me much anymore, does she?_ “Looked to me like you picked the only person in the town who could have made it worse. I'm not blaming you, fairy, you're not in trouble. But it's good to learn that even if someone is a good fighter, it doesn't have to make them a good  _person_ .” The poison was gone from her voice. In fact, it didn't really seem like she was talking about him specifically at all anymore.

_But it still hurts._

“Off with you now. Thanks for coming when my daughter called, if nothing else,” the thanks sounded sincere enough now that she'd had a moment. “But I'd rather not have a man in arm's reach right now.”

Protesting didn't even cross Reads-With-Tail's mind. He wondered for a minute if he ought to say some platitude, offer some condolences or thank her for her clear stance, but there were no right words here. Instead he offered a quick bow and backed away. He spotted Elrindir's brother doing the same, taking the hint even though he had to be a friend of hers and not just a one-time customer who'd just disappointed her.

It took him a little while to really see the world again, to get out of his own skull at last. When the rippling plains filled his eyes again at last, though, they washed all the shame and doubt to the back of his head. He set off for the city gate at a brisker pace than he'd expected of himself.

Hopefully the walk would clear his head.

 

The sun had been gone for ages when the little Argonian finally rounded the last bend and stepped onto Riverwood's bridge. He'd narrowly dodged the crackling thunderstorm as it came across the steppes at the tilt, but cold wet winds still chased him all the way over the forested foothills to displace the warmer night air he'd hoped for.  _Still, this is warmer than the winds off the Sea of Ghosts in Windhelm, and even those are comfortable. I should stop letting myself get spoiled. I mean, I need to get back to work there someday!_

At least the clouds kept to themselves, impaled on Jarl Balgruuf's palace. So moonlight and aurora bands lit his way now that he was out of the trees. That had been an eerie experience that he was in no great rush to relive. No distant astral light could get through the canopy, even though each individual tree was thin and whippy. Even though he knew where the road was, his eyes couldn't confirm where his feet were falling. The darkness crawled up around him, consumed everything besides his shield and tools, and even they looked like scuffed granite in the ground instead of lightly tarnished metal less than arm's reach away. He'd been a tiptoeing cowardly mess and his pace had dropped to an absolute crawl all the way down the lea side of the ridge.

But at long last he was here, the swamp of blackness dispelled from all sides as the skies glistened dully off the river and illuminated the streams that fell from the waterwheel. His legs were finally learning the confidence to tell him they were done with travel for the night, but the rest of his body was frustratingly awake.

Nobody else seemed to be, though. Even the Sleeping Giant's windows were dark; if there was any light inside it was from firepit embers at most.  _That's all right, isn't it? I need to save what's left of my money here anyway._ It was a nice night, especially if he found somewhere that wasn't exposed to the north wind. His back wouldn't be happy with sleeping on the soil again after one night on a mattress and another on a magically sculpted reclining chair, but like the cold wind it was something he knew he couldn't let himself get spoiled for.

A dog barked suddenly from one of the houses on the southern fork of the village. _That'd be...Stump, I think Dorthe said? Frodnar and Lady Gerdur's old sheepdog._ _I think I'm remembering that right._ The dog gave three or four very drowsy and unconcerned woofs, then quieted down again. “I kind of hope he isn't the first one to find me though. That'd be a sight, a scruffy little Argonian bandit dragged out of the mulch by a guard dog.”

_Well, I know one place I'll probably be forgiven for passing out. But I don't dare be that close..._

_No. Not this again. I trust Master Alvor enough to let me live in exile if he thinks Dorthe has too high an opinion of me. It's hard, I_ want _to talk and play like Mikael could have done with his sonnets and his literature. But I don't want to give myself the chance to make his mistakes. I'll sleep on the patio, say good morning, and get to work right away._

He knew he was lying to himself. The entire family was just too personable to let him sneak off like that, and he'd feel obligated to pay them back for using their space somehow too. And there was still the matter of the boots too. Belatedly, he wondered if he should have walked the cart back, but Miss Avenicci would have stopped him at the gate if she'd wanted it.  _I was still supposed to offer. It's my job to be useful._

So he told himself a different lie as he stepped up into Master Alvor's porch workshop and arched his back against the warm stones of the forge.  _I'll be right here and everything will be over right away. I won't have to keep waiting and worrying about what will happen. They can throw me off the property for being poisonous, I can go run my errands, and all the anxiety will be done._

_I just wish this would end in a way I'd be happy with too._ Things had worked out with Master Amren and Miss Saffir back in town, after all, and even if she'd stung him Miss Carlotta had gotten out of her trouble too. It had felt good to be helping with more personal problems for a change too, at least at first when they were problems he  _could_ help with.

_I'm just too close to this, though, aren't I? It's not a place for a heroic outsider to swoop in and fix things, it's me not knowing how to interact with_ real  _people. I'm the one who_ needs _a rescue._

_I just don't know if I'll recognize it if it comes._

 


End file.
